


Looking at You Now

by greenstuff



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Future Fic, Major Character Injury, Romance, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:30:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenstuff/pseuds/greenstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years away from Fifteen have severed nearly all of Sam's ties with his old division until a series of violent murders bring him back, forcing him to confront memories and feelings he thought could stay buried forever. </p><p>NOMINATED for Rookie's Choice Best Future Fic, 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

June 20, 2016

His scent, a blend of Bounce sheets, pepper and musky man, invaded her nostrils and she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his. Tentative at first, the butterflies in her stomach doing cartwheels.

Soft kisses, slow, sweet, filled with promise. Sam cupped her face with one hand.

Shivers raced down her spine at the touch of his calloused fingers. Lust coursed through her veins. A simple kiss and she was already practically dizzy with wanting him. She needed air, needed to think. She needed not fuck this up. Andy took a step back, forcibly breaking contact.

Sam's dark eyes tried to hold her gaze, but she looked down. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing came in gentle pants. "Andy..." His voice was barely more than a whisper and rough, though from lust or suppressed emotion he couldn't have said. He felt as if all the blood in his body was rushing to his heart, swelling it almost to the point of pain.

She took another step back, her back hitting the door. She fumbled for the doorknob.  

He reached for her, his hand on her arm stopped her retreat. Squeezing just tightly enough with his fingers to say _don't go_ without opening his lips.

Uncertainty flickered across her face. Her muscles under his fingers were tense, as if she were fighting the urge to flee. _Stay_ , his eyes pleaded with her silently. He'd let her walk away once before, but this time he swore it would be different.

Andy took a deep shuddering breath.  She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be with him. It was too soon. They'd barely gotten to know each other again.  She wasn't the same Andy McNally who'd propositioned her partner during an undercover assignment five years ago and nearly gotten them both fired. Too much had happened.

Sam pulled gently at her arm and she half stumbled forward. Her hands came to rest on his chest, caressing the soft cotton of his shirt, the firm muscles beneath. Her eyes fell closed and she breathed in his scent, trying to commit it to memory. The one shirt he'd left behind lost its smell years ago, months before she finally threw it out.

He slid his hands up her back, pressing her tightly against his chest. He would never get enough of her, of this. He pressed a kiss against her hair, her forehead, her cheeks and finally, her lips. So soft. Opening under his, perfectly in synch with him, as if they'd been doing this all their lives. It was an almost unbearable pleasure.

Andy returned his kisses, pouring out years of frustrated love. Her hands clung to him, and she wondered if it were possible to pass out from desire. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't rake her fingernails across his scalp, swallowing his appreciative groan; shouldn't press her breasts against his chest; shouldn't grind her pelvis against his, but she couldn't stop. 


	2. chapter one

I can't forget you when you're gone

You're like a song that goes around in my head

And how I regret, it's been so long

Oh, what went wrong? Could it be something I said?

 

Time, make it go faster or just rewind

To back when I'm wrapped in your arms

 

June 7, 2016 __

The air was heavy with the sweet, metallic stench of fresh blood. Bile rose in Sam's throat. There were some parts of the job it was impossible to get used to. It was different for everyone. For Sam it was the cloying scent of blood, the way it clung to his nostrils for days on end, an ever present reminder of ugly death.

These deaths were uglier than most. 

He stood in the doorway of the back bedroom, allowing his stomach to settle and his eyes to survey the scene completely before stepping inside. Not a surface in the room had escaped.  Even the slowly spinning ceiling fan was spattered with tiny droplets of crimson. Whoever was responsible was not squeamish, that much was certain. If the four victims already removed from the scene by the coroner's office hadn't still been in possession of all of their limbs, if not their fingernails, Sam would have guessed chainsaw.

As it was, cause of death would be easy to determine, four shots to the skull. An execution at the end of a long, painful bought of torture. The who, what and why of the deaths would take longer. And not just because the large calibre bullets had taken large portions of face with them.

Sam ran a hand through his already mussed black hair. _What a mess_. If anyone had told him a promotion to Detective meant heading up this gong show he might have reconsidered. Then again, it wasn't all blood and horror, even here. He snuck a glance across the room where McNally and Epstein stood, heads bent together, discussing something in low voices. Dov had glanced up when Sam first entered the room, tilting his chin in wordless acknowledgement before refocusing on McNally. Andy hadn't looked his way once.

He hadn't seen Andy McNally in almost a year, hadn't talked to her in over three. She looked different. Older. Harder. As if she'd lost one fight too many and smiling through it was no longer an option.

The once-rookies had been with 15 seven years and were officially part of the team by now. Arguably more a part of it than Sam. Two years on the drug squad and another three at 27 had severed nearly all of Sam's ties with his old department. It was only by a fluke he'd even found out about the funeral. He'd sat at the back and left as soon as it was over, feeling like an intruder. A voyeur peeping on their private grief.

August 9, 2015

 _The parking lot was full and it took Sam almost ten minutes to find a_ Police Only _spot at a nearby convenience store. He parked the cruiser and walked quickly to the church. He was almost late, entering silently and taking a seat at the very back only minutes before the ushers closed the heavy oak doors._

_He scanned the crowd, familiar faces popped out at him. Elaine Peck sat in the front row, her back rigid. Beside her Frank and Noelle sat in full dress uniform. There were other high ranking officers in the rows behind them, but Sam skipped their rows completely. He wasn't here for the dignitaries._

_On the other side of the church he found them. Andy was sandwiched between Diaz and Epstein in the front row. She turned to whisper something to Diaz, giving him a watery smile. Sam's heart wrenched in his chest. He wanted to go to her, wrap his arms around her, tell her everything would be alright. But he couldn't. That wasn't his right, it hadn't been his right for a long, long time._

_How had he let her get so far away?_

June 7, 2016 __

"Sam," Oliver Shaw appeared at his elbow,  "you should take a look at this."

Sam forced his eyes away from McNally's earnest face and his mind back to the task at hand, chiding himself for letting his mind wander. 

This was the second time in three weeks a member of the James Motorcycle Club, had shown up tortured and executed. The first had been on the other side of town, in 27's back yard. Sam hadn't been the first detective called to the scene. The reporting officer hadn't made the gang connection and so it had been Jo Rosati's case at the start. But she was sharp and had called in guns and gangs within the hour. Since then Sam had learned precious little apart from the fact that their perpetrator wasn't squeamish or afraid to take out bystanders.

The first victim, Vincent Aristu was a low level courier for the James. Hardly a step above fetching coffee and crack for the James' girls. Certainly not high enough in the organization to know anything worth torturing out of him. The usual reasons for a gang hit didn't fit the amount of blood at the scene, neither did the single bullet to the back of the head that had ended Aristu's torture, though not before a third of his blood was decorating the room.

Gang executions were nothing new to Sam. A member saw something he shouldn't have, flapped his mouth in the wrong bar, fucked the wrong prostitute, and he became useless, expendable, a liability. A problem best solved by a cheap bullet through the skull. A badge of honour for some rising star, proving his loyalty by executing a man and stepping into his shoes. The torture was less typical, but not unheard of.

Usually someone claimed it. Not in any way that could get them caught, but in private circles, among friends. Not always the real executioner - usually the real deal was smart enough to shut the fuck up - but someone in a rival gang or someone so low on the totem pole there really was nowhere to go but up... but this time no one was talking. No sobbing girlfriend appeared, no strutting peacock from a rival gang spouting his mouth about how he'd earned his tat, no puffed up rook looking to claim five minutes of fame for losing an informant. The streets were silent. As if, as far as Toronto's gangs were concerned, Aristu's execution hadn't even happened.

May 23, 2016

_“I think this one’s all yours, Swarek.” Jo Rosati rose from her position crouched beside one of the three corpses on the floor of the Union Station Smokehouse. Her blonde hair was pulled in a hasty poly tail and a few stray strands clung to the sweat on her neck. She tucked her notepad into the back pocket of her jeans before peeling off her purple vinyl gloves._

_Sam scanned the room quickly. When Jo had called him twenty minutes earlier, she’d told him it looked gang related. She hadn’t been kidding. “Anything I should know?” He asked._

_“Three vics, all three shot through the head. Looks like Rico Suave here,” she indicated the flamboyantly dressed corpse at her feet, “was tortured for a fair bit before they did him, the other two were more or less clean hits.” Jo nodded towards the only female body, a young blonde, no more than twenty. “We’re pretty sure she was a bystander, shot at a distance, the other two were up close and personal.”_

_Sam jotted a few notes on his pad. “CSU en route?”_

_“Been and gone. You should have ballistics by tomorrow, but they weren’t too optimistic. We’re running prints and will let you know if we get an ID on any of them.”_

_Nodding, Sam knelt to get a better look at the victim’s face. “Looks familiar.” He pulled on vinyl gloves so he could brush the victims shoulder length black hair away from his face. ”I think I've seen him around, but I can’t place him. You get a look at his tat?”_

_“Doesn't have one, unless it’s on his unmentionables,” Jo grinned at Sam’s appalled look. She’d been working homicide for over a decade, it took a lot more than a room full of bodies to make her lose her sense of humour._

_Sam stood, he and Jo were the only two left in the room. CSU had finished before Sam even arrived, and the cops that had come with Jo had dispersed to take statements or headed back to the station to begin typing up their reports._

_“Need anything else from me?”_

_He shook his head. “Nah, just want to look around a little before the coroner gets here.”_

_She nodded. “Enjoy.”_

_Sam barely acknowledged her, His eyes were fixed on the third victim, a middle aged man. The victim's mostly grey hair was cropped short and his black rimmed glasses were askew on his prominent nose. Apart from the bullet hole in his forehead and the chunk of skull missing at the back of his head he looked like he was sleeping. There was even a half smile on his face. It was the almost-smile that had Sam’s attention. Certainly this was not the first execution he’d investigated, but he thought it might be the first time he’d seen a smiling corpse with a bullet wound._

_He crossed the room and crouched beside the body. No wallet, no visible tattoos, and the face was not familiar. Sam checked the man’s wrists for any sign he’s been physically restrained but found none. He pulled his phone out of a pocket in his vest and dialled Jo’s number from memory._

_“Rosati,” she answered in a clipped, no nonsense voice._

_“It’s Swarek. Did CSU find drugs on any of our vics?”_

_“Not that I know of, why?”_

_“The grey-haired one is smiling.”_

_“Smiling?”He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “Don’t touch anything, Coroner will be there in half an hour.”_

_Sam snapped the phone shut and moved to study the second victim. From her wound and where she lay, half in the room, half in the hall, it looked as though she’d walked in on the killer. She was certainly not smiling, her face was frozen in a look of shocked horror, her mouth half open in an eternal scream._

_The first victim, the one Jo had nicknamed Rico Suave, had been shot from behind at close range. The bullet, large calibre from the looks of it, had taken off a third of his face. The features that remained were arranged in the facial expression Sam expected from torture victims, a mixture of anger and steely resolve. He doubted whoever was responsible had learned what they wanted to know._

_“He’s smiling?” Jo asked, striding back into the room, “How did I miss that?”_

_Sam gestured towards the man, shrugging unhelpfully._

_Jo crouched in front of the man for a moment before rising. “That is just eerie.”_

_"That's one way of putting it."_

_"You're thinking drugs?"_

_It wasn't really a question, but Sam answered with a nod anyway. "Nothing else makes sense."_

_"But why drug him and not the others?"_

_Sam looked at the two dead men. The grey haired man was untouched, apart from the bullet wound, while the black haired man had probably sustained at least an hour of torture before the killer put a bullet in his brain. "Maybe they tried drugs first, killed him when he gave them what they were looking for."_

_Jo stood. "Maybe." She said, but she didn't look convinced. "Could be he was high when the guy walked in."_

_Sam nodded, pondering the options. He'd always claimed he worked best alone. But Rosati was surprisingly good for bouncing ideas. They weren't officially partners, but of all the detectives at 27 she was the one he liked working with best. She was sharp, sometimes cutting, and pretty funny when she put her mind to it. Not to mention, easy on the eyes and a damn good kisser._

June 7, 2016

"You going to be alright, working with Swarek?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

Dov gave Andy a sceptical look. "None of those old feelings cropping up?" It hadn't escaped his notice that she'd been actively not looking in Swarek's direction since the detective entered the room twenty minutes earlier.

She sighed. She loved Dov like a brother, but he was no substitute for Tracy when it came to relationships. He lacked the subtlety, and was a little too willing to forget all the valid reasons why she and Sam had broken up in the first place. "It's been five years."

"Wasn't Swarek at the wedding?"  His casual tone wasn't fooling anyone.

"Well yeah..." Andy pretended to focus hard on a particular blood stain. " But that was three years ago."

"I seem to remember you and Gail so drunk you could barely stand. And then you just... disappeared." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Nothing happened." Andy said, for what was probably the hundredth time. Tracy hadn't believed her either, but Andy hadn't been able to raise much honest irritation. It wasn't like she hadn't _wanted_ something to happen, it just... hadn't. Sometimes friends who knew you better than you knew yourself was annoying.

Dov chuckled, it was a rare sound these days and Andy felt an irrational surge of pride at inspiring it, even if it was at her expense. "Does this look like a foot print to you?" See asked, gesturing towards a square of floor.

"I think we've just been staring at it too long." Dov tilted his head to one side, "from this angle it could be a butterfly."

"I've never seen this much blood." Andy's voice sounded almost awed as she scanned the room.

"I have." Dov's playful tone was gone in an instant.

Andy ground her teeth together. Why did she _never_ think before letting words out of her mouth? "God, Dov I didn't mean--"

"You didn't know." He said, but his eyes were dull and he didn't smile.

 _Yes I did_. Andy said silently.

She'd read the report cover to cover, the details tattooing themselves on her brain. When she learned Dov had been the first officer on the scene she'd thrown up twice. Then there had been the pictures... She still dreamed of it some nights. Invariably waking with a throat raw from screaming.  She couldn't even imagine what it was like for Dov.

August 2, 2015

 _“I need to see it.”_ _Andy leaned against Luke Callaghan’s desk, arms folded defensively across her chest. “I won’t believe it unless you let me see it.”_

_“Andy...you shouldn’t even be in here today. Frank gave you the week off.” Luke’s tone, posture and expression all screamed ‘be reasonable, ’but Andy was beyond the reach of reasonable. She was barely holding on to ‘not-in-hysterics.’_

_“You can’t tell me she’s dead and expect me to just_ accept _it!”_

 _Luke placed a placating hand on her shoulder, which she shook off immediately. “I’m sorry, Andy. I know you were friends. But she_ is _dead and showing you the file won’t help.”_

_“And you know this from personal experience?” She snapped._

_He shook his head, “No, of course not. But... Just trust me, Andy, you don’t want to see the file.”_

_“Just give it to me, you can say ‘I told you so’ later.”_

_“This isn’t about being_ right _. Damn it, Andy, I’m trying to protect you.”_

_“That’s not your job.”_

_“And it’s not your job to look at closed homicide investigations." he countered, "Yet here we are.”_

_“It’s_ different _.”_

_He gave her a penetrating stare. “Is it?”_

_Andy shuffled her feet, letting her arms fall to her sides. The anger was wearing away against his solid wall of irritatingly sincere protest. “Yes. It is.”_

_Luke turned the file in his hands over and over again, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Frank will kill me.”_

_“Frank never has to know.” Andy countered, sending victory._

_“Fine.”_

_“Thank you, Luke.”_

_“I have one condition.” He warned._

_Andy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing._

_“You look at it here, in my office, and then you let me drive you home.”_

_“That’s two conditions.” She pointed out._

_Luke let out an exasperated huff of air. “It’s also my final offer. Take it or leave it.”_

_“I’ll take it.” Andy said._

_“Alright,” Luke handed Andy the file. “Take a seat.”_

_“I’d like to be alone.” She said softly, taking the folder from his hands. “If that’s okay.”_

_Luke nodded. “Take your time. Call me when you’re ready to go home.” He stepped out of the office, locking the door behind him, leaving her alone._

_Andy sank into Luke’s desk chair and aid the file on the desk in front of her. She couldn’t bring herself to open it. She simply ran a trembling finger over the surface. Her stomach was in knots and she wondered if she might vomit._

_Taking a deep, steadying breath she opened the file. The first page was the coroner’s report. Andy felt her throat tighten as she read the name. For a minute that was all her brain could take in. She sat in Luke’s chair, palms flat on the desk in front of her, eyes glued to the single line of text._

June 7, 2016

"Sam!" Frank's face looked like it could split in two from the sheer force of his smile. "You're coming back to us?"

"For this case," Sam said, taking the chair across from Frank's desk. The years had been good to Frank Best. His hair was greying a bit at the temple, but he looked happier and more relaxed than Sam ever remembered seeing him. "How's the family?" 

"Noelle is great. Kyla is five now. She'd growing like a weed."

Sam smiled politely as the staff sergeant talked about his daughter. It was hard to believe that the last time Sam had sat in this office, Noelle had barely begun to show. Now their daughter was going into Kindergarten, and here was Sam, still single, still living in a one bedroom, still driving his silver pickup out to St. Catharines every holiday because he had no one in town to share them with. Funny that his life hadn't seemed lonely until today.

27 division had some solid cops. Sam got along with most of his fellow officers and had several good friends, but 15 had been his family. He'd worked the streets at fifteen for a decade. The sort of trust and camaraderie that built over a decade of victories and bitter losses was hard to duplicate, especially on a squad that still blamed you, at least a little, for the loss of one of their own. Even after five years, 15 still felt like home.

"You alright?" The smile was gone and Frank looked every inch the caring, concerned Staff Sergeant his uniform proclaimed him to be.

"Yeah. Great."

"This case--"

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes. Ever since Jamie Brennan had tortured him for information about the car crash that had killed Jamie's wife and child, the white shirts had been eager to jump all over Sam about job stress and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and all the other reasons they thought he should take up permanent residence behind a desk. "This is my case, I've been working it for weeks already. I appreciate the concern, Frank," the familiar white lie tripped off his tongue without a second's hesitation,  "but I'm fine."

Frank did not look convinced. "Callaghan just finished up a case, he can--"

"Frank, I'm _fine_. It's been five years." _And If I wanted a homicide detective, I wouldn't choose Callaghan._ He added silently. Some things did not fade, even after five years. Sam's hatred of Luke Callaghan was one of them.

"World War II was over sixty years ago and my granddad still has night terrors." Frank said with a hint of a smile.

Sam returned it, though he didn't see the humour. "Jamie Brennan is behind bars for the next fifty years, I've been cleared by three different shrinks, and this is _not_ the first case I've worked where the James have tortured someone for information."

Frank's friendly concern morphed into an expression of excited curiosity. "You think it was the James?"

 "It makes sense, but can't say for sure at this point. Could have been a rival gang as well."

Frank nodded, "Anything you need, just say the word."

Sam studied the Staff Sergeant for a moment, weighing his options carefully. When he spoke it was in a casual tone, so casual Frank almost believed it. "Reassign McNally tomorrow? I've got Epstein and Shaw, I don't need her."

"Done." Frank said, forcing his face not to betray the concern that was flooding his brain. It had been five years, he'd hoped his friend would have moved on by now.

"Thanks." Sam stood, pushing his chair back.

Frank watched him go, the wheels in his head spinning in familiar circles. He told himself he shouldn’t be surprised. Things between Sam and Andy hadn’t ended well. Not that he knew the exact circumstances, but he felt guilty, as if he, not Andy, had broken Sam’s heart and sent him running to guns and gangs five years earlier. Frank regretted losing Sam more than he had ever admitted to anyone. Even Noelle didn’t know that there were days when Frank wished he had a time machine so he could go back and talk his younger self into a spine. It was probably for the best, she would remind him that it really hadn’t been his decision to make, and tease him for being a hopeless romantic.

Both were true, but Frank didn’t need Noelle’s reminder that when it came down to the important things, he was little more than a mouthpiece for the real leaders.

February 28, 2011

_"Come on Sam, I shouldn't have to say this." Frank ran a hand over his head in exasperation. "You were suspended for conduct unbecoming with McNally.. Did you think they would ignore the fact that you're shacking up with her? For God sake, they're trying to decide if they should fire you or make you change divisions."_

_"For what? Brennan never knew she was a cop.. Even after he made me! The entire fucking case was bullshit from the start and you know it. Boyd set me up so he could get Brennan, one way or the other. I wouldn't even be here right now if it weren't for McNally."_

_Frank groaned. He'd been having this same argument with Noelle for days. Everyone at fifteen loved Sam, Frank included and McNally's only enemies in the division were Boyd and Callaghan, and Callaghan hardly counted. But they'd fucked up, and as Staff Sergeant he had to deal with it. Unfortunately, in order to nail Boyd for setting Sam up they had to open the whole case to external review, Frank's hands were tied. "I know, Sam, but it's out of my hands. If you keep seeing her..." He let the words hang ominously in the air for a moment before continuing," Just let her go."_

_"What about McNally?"_

_"If nothing changes," Frank shrugged, "A one month suspension without pay, probably desk duty until they deem her ready for the field again."_

_"And if we keep seeing each other?"_

_"If they don't fire you, there'll be no UC,  and they'll either put you both behind a desk or move you to separate divisions."_

_"So we get our guy, plus a dirty cop from guns and gangs, Andy manages to keep her cover even after mine's been blown and you reward us by treating us like teenagers?"_

_"You got lucky." Frank snapped. He was sick of being blamed as if he'd had any control over this.  His role ended as soon as the external review began._

_“Lucky McNally figured out where I was before Brennan killed me for Boyd’s dirty work, yeah,” Sam glared at his staff sergeant, “I was lucky all right.”_

_“I know it’s not fair,” Frank said in as soothing a voice as he could manage, “but you’re a cop, not a lawyer, we’re held to a different standard, and we don’t always get fair.”_

_“Fine,” Sam sounded resigned instead of furious for the first time since he’d stormed into Frank’s office, “Transfer me.”_

_“It’s too late for that.” Frank’s tone was final. “For now the best thing you can do is stay away from McNally until they return their decision. You do that and maybe I can convince them to keep you both.”_

_“Maybe.” Sam repeated flatly._

_Frank nodded. “You fucked up, Sam. Now we all get to pay for it.”_

_Silence reigned in the office for several moments. Sam turned to look out into the bull pen. When he turned back to Frank, his expression was resigned._

_“Go home, Sam.”_

_Sam nodded._

_As Frank watched him leave, he felt a heavy weight in his chest. This was not going to end well._

 


	3. chapter two

January 11, 2011

_"Gail?"_

_"Go away Dov."_

_He didn't go away. Instead he turned the knob. The door was locked. "Unlock the door." His voice held the quiet authority and supreme confidence of someone fully capable of forcing their way in._

_She wanted to disobey just to spite him, but she'd been hiding in the bathroom for over an hour. At some point he would lose patience and just pick the damn lock. She surveyed her face in the mirror above the sink. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, there were ridiculous pink splotches on her cheeks and her hair was a mess. She prepared her very best this-is-all-your-fault-and-I-hate-you glare before yanking the bathroom door open. "I said go away," she snarled in Dov's worried face._

_Still, he held his ground. "Gail, I--"_

_"No," she shook her head, "no. You don't get to apologize to me. Not tonight." She tried to push past him, but he grasped her upped arms._

_"Gail.."_

_"No." She turned her head away so he wouldn't see the traitorous tear trickling down her cheek._

_"I meant it."_

_For a moment Gail forgot se was mad at him, "Wai-- what?"_

_Dov's blue eyes were serious. "I meant every word."_

_Gail stared at him, her mind refusing to process what he'd just said. "Dov, you don't have to..."_

_He shook her lightly, and her eyes snapped to his again. "I meant it then, and I still mean it. You're--"_

_"You're crazy." She tried to jerk away from him, but his grip was strong. "Dov, you have a_ girlfriend _."_

_"I know." He took a deep breath, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment while he tried to find the words. "And Sue is great, really... but she's not you." He met her eyes again, willing her to believe him._

_Gail stopped trying to pull away. Her eyes narrowed slightly as if he were a difficult puzzle she was trying to solve._

_Dov let her look. He'd wanted Gail for a long time. Since before he'd really known her he'd thought she was beautiful. Now that he knew her, he was a fair way to being in love with her. Unfortunately he'd been too boneheaded to figure any of that out before she and Chris hooked up and now everything was all turned around and fucked up. She was the girl of his dreams, and he would never have her. But even though he knew she would never be his, he needed her to know how he felt. Somehow that had become the most important thing in the world._

_"You really meant it?" the hostility was gone from Gail's voice, but she still sounded suspicious._

_"Yes."_

_"You told Chris we kissed?"_

_That was not the question Dov had been expecting. His head shook almost of its own volition. "He asked if I kissed you."_

_"But we didn't--"_

_"I. Kissed. You." Dov interrupted. "I'm sorry, Gail. I can talk to him tomorrow. Or.. try to."_

_Gail shook her head, "He made his choice."_

_"But--"_

_She shook her head again. "No." She leaned closer to him, her lips mere inches form his own. "It's okay." she whispered, closing the distance._

_Her lips were dry, but warm. Dov wrapped both arms around her, pulling her against him as he deepened the kiss. Gail slid her hands into his hair keeping him close as he explored the inside of her mouth with his tongue._

_Suddenly he took her by the shoulders, pushing her back until she was at arm's length. "We can't do this."_

_Gail stared at him blankly for a moment, "But you said..."_

_"I meant it. I did… I do… but that doesn't make this right." He sighed, defeated. He knew the words he had to say. The words she needed to hear, the words that would protect them both, but for an instant, he wished he didn't have to say them. He wished she really did want him, but she didn't._

_Dov had been watching Gail from afar for a year. Sometimes he thought he knew her better than she knew herself. She was hurting. She'd done nothing wrong and Chris, her perfect boyfriend, had broken up with her anyway. She was heartbroken. She was also angry. At Dov, at Chris, at herself. But more than sad, or angry, she was lost. She was drowning in confusion and pain and Dov was there. The fact that he had caused her breakup didn't matter, maybe if they made a go of it it would all be worth it. If he would just take her to his bed, maybe breathing would be a little easier. All of this Dov knew, and wished to God he didn't. "You don't want me."_

_"Yes I do."_

_"No." He forced his lips to smile fondly, "You're sad, and I'm here, but you don't really want me."_

_"Like you know what I want." She muttered bitterly._

_"You want Chris to stay, you wish I'd kept my big mouth shut because two weeks ago you were happy and now your heart is breaking, you want not to have lost Chris over nothing so you want us.. This... To be something more. But as much as I wish you loved me back, you don't."_

_She stared at him, big blue eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry."_

_Dov pulled her against his chest, pressing a kiss on top of her head. "You're going to be okay. I'm right here." He whispered._

June 7, 2016

"I wasn't expecting you tonight." Gail opened the door to her apartment wide and stepped aside to let Dov enter.

Dov handed her a twelve pack of Steam Whistle. "And I was expecting you at the Penny."

Gail shrugged, "I wasn't in the mood."

Dov's forehead creased in concern. "You alright?"

"Fine," Gail flashed a smile, "just.. Traffic, puts me in a mood. Y'know?"

"Should I go?"

"No, I was going to order pizza, you can pay for half."

"Only if there are mushrooms on my half."

Gail wrinkled her nose. "Fine. You call, I'll put these in the fridge."

Ten minutes later, the pizza was ordered and Dov had taken his usual spot on her couch.

"I can't believe you and Andy are working with Swarek!" Gail sank down next to him, and handed Dov a bottle of beer. "You get to work a shooting with Swarek and I'm on traffic."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you dated half the homicide detectives in the department." Dov teased.

"That was three years ago." Gail grinned. "Besides, Callaghan is a total fox."

"A total fox?" Dov could barely get the words out through his laughter. 

"Shut up!" Gail threw a pillow at his head. "Tell me about the case."

"Okay, okay." Dov took a swig of beer and recounted the details of the case.

"Andy and Swarek in the same room for hours. How did I miss that?" Gail moaned. "Was it unbearably awkward?"

"Surprisingly not, unless you count the fact they didn't say two words to each other all day."

"I have got to get on that case."

"Good luck with that." Dov rose to his feet picking up their empty beer bottles from the table.

"You could trade me." Gail used her best pleading tone.

Dov's laughter floated after him as he disappeared into the kitchen. A knock at the door signalled the arrival of their dinner.

They settled back down on the couch, a box of pizza open on the table in front of them, fresh beer in hand. "You really want in on the case?"

"Yes!" Gail fixed him with her best pity-me expression.

"Beat me at Death Domain and you can have whatever case I'm assigned to tomorrow. But if you lose, you take my next traffic shift." 

Gail barely paused to think before nodding. "You're on." She snatched the remote from his hand. Somehow she had ended up with the X-box when Dov moved out of the two bedroom apartment they'd shared for three years, which also meant she had the dubious honour of hosting the game nights. They'd tried countless games over the years, but somehow ended up back at the very first game she'd ever schooled him at.  The graphics were a little cheesy, but it was nothing the nostalgia couldn't overcome.

Their first game was intense. Neither made a sound, their eyes and reflexes fully focused on the game playing out before them. Gail led most of the way, until out of nowhere, Dov clipped her back wheel, sending her spinning out of control just seconds before the finish line.

"Bastard!" She threw the remaining throw pillow at his head.

Dov threw it right back, "You love me."

Gail went suddenly still. She could feel his eyes on her face and it suddenly felt like her every movement was being scrutinized. "You wish." The words sounded stilted and she wished the couch would open up and swallow her whole.

It had been less than a year since Sue. He hadn't dated at all. He didn't even seem to see other women. He visited her because she was safe. The last thing she wanted was to take advantage of him, or worse, lose their friendship. She was in love with her best friend, but he didn't need a woman to love him, he needed a friend.

"You want to go best two out of three?" Dov offered. "It's always more satisfying to beat you twice in a row."

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the familiar opening sequence playing out on the screen. "You're not winning again, Epstein. Not tonight."

He did win. Five straight before Gail threw her controller down, and admitted defeat. The twelve pack he'd brought and the six beer that had already been in her fridge were gone as was the entire pizza.

"You shouldn't drive," Gail said, rising to throw the empty pizza box in the recycling bin. "I'll make up the couch."

"You are the best," Dov smiled broadly up at her, more than a little tipsy.

"Except at Death Domain," Gail grumbled, though she wasn't really angry. As much as she hated losing, Dov's smiles were precious these days. She couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled this much. So she would take the extra traffic shift, and she would absolutely bitch about it, but more for his benefit than her own. It heaping a little suffering on her made Dov smile, she could take it.

February 20, 2011

_"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" Frank's voice echoed off the observation room's sound proof walls._

___Sam wondered absently if Brennan and Boyd could hear Frank's yelling through the glass. He supposed he should feel something. Anger, shame… something. His friend and staff sergeant had been yelling for at least five minutes with barely a breathe, and Sam felt nothing. Well, not quite nothing. He felt detached. Like he was floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching his battered, bruised body sag a little more with each minute._

___"I'm trying to get your hearing first thing next week." Frank said, his yelling finished for the moment. "For now, just do yourself a favour and lay low. There are a lot of unhappy people up the food chain, I don't want your head to roll for this"_

___"What about McNally?" Sam asked, leaning back against the glass, too exhausted to stand anymore._

___"I'll do what I can, but Boyd wants her badge."_

___"Boyd wants.." Sam ran both hands through his still-damp hair, a spark of anger giving an edge to his voice. "Boyd? The guy almost gets me killed because he was too busy selling out to some biker to check his fucking facts and he gets a say?"_

___Frank held up a hand. "We're looking into those allegations-"_

___"Fuck that. 'We're looking into it'," Sam mimicked his staff sergeant bitterly, he could feel the umpteenth rush of adrenaline of the last thirty hours surging through his body. It made his fingers shake and brought Frank and the room into hyper focus.  "He set this entire case up, including tonight's little water boarding session and you're 'looking into it.' I feel better."_

_"You don't know that Bo--"_

__

_"Brenan told me." As quickly as it had come, the adrenaline left. Sam's voice was flat, defeated.  "It was the fucking boat, Frank. That's what made me."_

_"McNally.."_

_"Fooled him completely. If you don't believe me, ask him yourself, he's right on the other side of the glass."_

_Frank shook his head. "You know I can't do that."_

_Sam slumped against the glass. Every muscle in his body ached and he needed to get ice on his eye before it swelled shut completely. "Fine, follow procedure. You'll call me when the hearing is set?"_

_Frank nodded. "I'll call."_

_"Can I go?" Sam sounded like a petulant teenager, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't slept more than a couple hours in the last three days, he'd been beaten, half-drowned, terrified and angry by turns, and all he wanted was a handful of painkillers and blissful, pain free sleep._

_"You got lucky. You could have gotten both of you killed." Frank said, drilling Sam with a stern look that bordered on fatherly._

_Sam said nothing. What could he say? Frank was right. Calling Andy had been incredibly stupid, even if he was damn certain Brennan was telling the truth when he said it was the boat that tipped him off. He could have gotten her fired, or worse, killed, and for what? Because he had idiotically run off on an undercover assignment with no known end date without even talking to her? Because he'd been unable to shake the thought that she was going to find someone better while he slaved away in Brennan's shipping company, no closer to a conviction each day than he'd been the week before? Because once he'd had a taste of her he couldn't breathe without worrying it was all going to slip away? He'd been incredibly stupid and he was lucky to be alive._

_"You're suspended, pending the results of the hearing." Frank continued, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. Yelling hadn't helped, it was time for a different tact. Somehow, even though he just wanted to celebrate the fact that Sam had made it home alive, he had to maintain his role as Staff Sergeant. Tonight he wished the job belonged to anyone else._

_For a moment the room was silent. Sam leaned heavily against the wall. Every breath hurt. His ribs felt bruised and his throat was raw from coughing. He wanted to leave, but the idea of standing under his own power was daunting, let alone making it all the way to his town house._

_"What were you thinking?" It was at least the sixth time Frank had asked, but this was the first time he'd waited for a response._

_Sam shook his head but didn't answer. There was no easy answer, nothing that would make Frank see why he couldn't stay away from her for another day, let alone the foreseeable future. Certainly no answer he was willing to share with his Staff Sergeant._

_Frank's expression softened slightly. "Go home, Sam. We'll talk in a couple of days." He stepped past Sam and reached for the door._

_Alone, Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It hurt like a bitch but a part of him relished the pain. It meant he was alive._

June 8, 2016

It was strange to be back. Sam sipped a cup of coffee and tried to convince himself he still belonged here. Fifteen division was once his home, now he felt like every eye was on him, waiting for him to do something incredibly stupid. Why wouldn't they? He'd done it before.

Andy was pouring herself coffee, talking animatedly to a cop Sam didn't recognize. His heart thudded against his chest, double its normal speed. He'd managed to keep his distance at the crime scene, but that hadn't stopped his wandering eyes from taking in the subtle changes five years had wrought. Today, under the bright fluorescents of the station, standing in a place he'd seen her so many times before, those differences seemed to melt away. The Andy McNally he'd avoided yesterday was a woman he used  to know, but this was _his_ Andy. He forced his lungs to breathe and his eyes to focus on anything else. 

Knowing she wasn't going to be assigned to his case should have made things easier. It didn't. No matter how vehemently he told himself she was not interested, off limits more so than ever before, he couldn't keep his eyes from straying.

She looked happy. Her eyes didn't drift his way once.  

"Or you could talk to her," Oliver took the seat next to Sam, giving his old friend a strange look. They'd fallen out of touch since Sam had left fifteen division, but picked up right where they'd left off over pints at the Penny the night before. Oliver wasn't the type to hold grudges.  Especially not with Sam looking so very much like a forlorn puppy.

"What?" Sam tore his eyes away from the coffee station and looked at Oliver, one brow raised.

Oliver returned the skeptical look with one of his own. "Talk to McNally." He said pointedly.  "It'll do you both some good."

Sam shook his head, "There's nothing to say." 

"So you've moved on?"

Sam tried to say yes, but the word stuck in his throat. If he was honest with himself, something Oliver seemed to have an uncanny knack for bringing out in him, he hadn't moved on quite as much as he would have liked. There had been women. He wasn't pining, and he certainly wasn't a monk. But they'd been nothing serious, absolutely nothing longer than a few months. Beautiful women, smart, sexy, passionate, but none held his interest.  They were amazing, they just weren't _her_.

May 5, 2011

_The Fox and Friar was a dive bar. There was really no other way to describe it. The dim lighting, caused by burnt out bulbs not an attempt at atmosphere, could not hide the bits of stuffing poking out of leather bar stools so worn it was impossible to tell what colour they had originally been. The hard wood floor was stained, scratched and warped and liberally dotted with circular burns from the days when smoking was optional, but second hand smoke was not. The glassware was perhaps the only part of the bar that had  survived the thirty years Fox and Friar had been serving Toronto's finest and the occasional civilian who didn't know this was a cop bar.  It was rarely spotless, but Sam didn't much care. The 40 proof whiskey would kill anything the dishwasher hadn't._

_"I thought I'd find you here." Jo Rosati slid onto the stool next to him._

_Sam gave her a look, half dislike, half curiosity, but said nothing. Instead he drained his third whiskey and gestured to the bar tender that he'd like another._

_"Make it two," Jo told the bartender when he moved their way._

_The grey haired man with slightly stooped shoulders and empathetic brown eyes set two tumblers on the counter and poured two a shot of whiskey in each before pushing them towards his patrons. "Anything else?" He asked._

_Jo shook her head and thanked him for the drink._

_Sam didn't even look up from the worn oak surface of the bar._

_"Look." Jo said, turning sideways on the stool so one elbow rested on the bar top and she was facing Sam, "I know you don't like me. But you need a friend at twenty-seven. You've been with us for weeks and you're still drinking alone. It's getting hard to watch."_

_"So don't watch."_

_"Here's how I see it," she continued as if he hadn't opened his mouth at all, "you're only at twenty-seven division because you fucked up an undercover assignment and it was this or a desk job with your ex..."_

_Sam raised his head to glare suspiciously at her._

_"People talk." She said raising both hands in mock surrender, "Come on, Swarek, you've been around long enough to know that."_

_He gave her a weak smile. "Why do you think I prefer working undercover?"_

_"Touché, but not the point." He was still watching her and Jo thought she might actually be getting through. She also thought they should give her some sort of medal for even trying. "The point is, you're stuck with us - at least until you've proven your worth again. This can go one of two ways... you can continue drinking alone, working alone and end up dead and in a file on my desk, or you can stop feeling sorry for yourself and actually become one of us."_

_"So my choice is death or becoming friends with you?" Sam asked, sounding amused._

_"Pretty much."  She grinned, "Despite what I'm sure you think of me, you'd be lucky to have me as a friend."_

_"Really?" He raised an eyebrow._

_"Oh yeah. I buy drinks, I kick ass at poker, I'm a pretty good listener."  She leaned in so her lips were inches from his ear and whispered a final comment._

_Sam turned, his eyes raked over her body and he smiled. "I guess a new friend wouldn't hurt."_

_"Your place or mine?" Jo asked throwing a pair of twenty dollar bills on the bar to cover their tab._

June 8, 2016

"You coming?" Gail stood in front of Andy, arms crossed across her chest, eyebrows raised at an extreme angle that suggested she'd asked the question more than once.

"Yeah, sorry." Andy pushed her chair back. She couldn't believe Sam had taken her off the case. She half expected to wake up and realize this was a paranoid dream. It's been five years... But apparently five years wasn't long enough. A small part of her was relieved, she had not been looking forward to another ten hour shift with Dov watching her every move waiting for her to crack and... well she wasn't sure what they expected her to do. But the expectation was exhausting.

"You're pissed at Swarek, eh?" Gail asked in a conversational tone as they made their way to the parking lot.

"No," Andy lied.

Gail's expression clearly stated she wasn't buying it. "I would be. Getting thrown off a  murder is bad enough, but now you're stuck on traffic?"

Andy shrugged. She tossed her bag in the back of the cruiser and climbed into the passenger seat. She was glad Gail usually drove, she wasn't sure she had the necessary focus today. She was even a little glad they were on traffic duty. Sure, it was boring and monotonous, but the mind numbing repetition sounded pretty perfect today.

"Was it weird working with him again after, well, everything?" The engine roared to life and Gail pulled out of the parking space and guided the car onto the street.

"We weren't really working together."

"But he was there, at the scene all day, wasn't he?"

"Yeah..." Andy took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. Just the mention of Sam's name set her stomach churning.

"Did you talk?"

"Can we talk about something else?" Andy asked, inserting a dose of pathetic into her tone in a vain attempt to gain Gail's sympathy.

"This is my third traffic shift this week and because of an idiotic  bet I lost of Epstein last night I will probably be stuck in Traffic for at least the next two shifts. So, no. We can't talk about something else, because everything else is boring  and I need something to keep my mind occupied. I need something to distract me from how bored and annoyed I am so I don't go postal on the next asshole who tries to flirt, cry or argue his way out of a ticket."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "You know, repressing emotions like this is bad for your health."

Gail glared at her, "You were at a murder scene yesterday, you don't get to mock me for this."

"I would have traded in a heartbeat." Andy said, turning to stare out the passenger window watching the city slide by, ignoring the curiosity she could feel radiating from Gail in waves.

"Any time you want my traffic shift you just let me know," Gail said. "I would rather sit behind a desk and do Oliver's paperwork."

Andy chuckled. Of all their once TO's Oliver Shaw had the worst paperwork, not because he handed out any more citations or took on any more cases than the others, but because his notes were almost completely illegible. Not that he would ever admit it, after all, he could usually read them. But for the rookies it had been a constant headache. "it's not that  bad."

Gail snorted. "Yesterday I pulled over a guy who blew through a red doing 90 on Dundas, his excuse? He had ice cream in the trunk and needed to get home before it melted."

"That's weak," Andy said though her laughter. 

"That's been my life for the last three days. Can we please talk about Swarek? You never talk about him and now he's back."

Andy sighed. She'd come to love Gail but that didn't mean there weren't days she wanted to strangle her. Today was one of those days. "It's fine. He's here for one case and then he'll go back to twenty seven and you can all stop watching me like I'm going to do something insane."

"He was in pretty late talking to Frank last night, it seemed like Frank was trying to convince him to stay."

Andy groaned. "Just what I need."

"Maybe it is." Gail's smile was decidedly mischievous. "You're both single, good looking, addicted to the job. I never understood why you broke up in the first place."

"He's not."

"Not what?"

"Single."

Gail looked confused. "How do you know?"

"I overheard Luke talking to Jerry about Sam and Jo last week." Andy said in a nonchalant tone that had nothing in common with the nauseous feeling she'd had in the pit of her stomach when she'd overheard Luke's comments the week before.

"Jo Rosati? I thought they hated each other."

"Apparently not. They were together at the wedding, I saw them."

"Yeah but that doesn't count." Gail said as if Andy were being a complete idiot to count a wedding hook up as an indication of anything. "Weddings are like New Years Eve, everyone hooks up with someone and usually they wake up wishing they hadn't."

"Maybe," Andy cursed the little thrill of relief that flashed through her at Gail's words. If Jo and Sam weren't... No. She stopped the thought dead. It didn't matter if Sam was single or in love with Jo Rosati, he wasn't hers anymore. She'd given him and out and he'd taken it and never looked back. That was the only thing that mattered.

February 20, 2011

_Andy's breath caught in her throat as she got her first real look at Sam's bruises. "God Sam, I'm so sorry."_

_He shook his head, "It wasn't you.."_

_"If I hadn't stayed..."_

_"I wanted you there. I called you."_

_"But I told you to ask me to stay. I let him give me a ride, we talked... I don't know what I said, but he must have made me. I blew your cover and he almost killed you." There were tears gathering at the corners of her eyes._

_"No, Andy listen to me." He cupped her face with his uninjured hand. "It was God's Good Grace."_

_"What?" Andy wracked her brain but nothing came to mind. As far as she knew the only time Sam called on God was to curse someone or thing._

_"Part of my cover ID. Boyd gave me a boat from a high profile bust two years ago… God's Good Grace. Brennan knew the name, knew the cops had it.. That's how he knew. Your being there... whatever you said or didn't say..." He shrugged. "He'd already made me."_

_"But..."_

_He cut her off, pressing his lips gently against hers. It wasn't much of a kiss. He was too tired and too sore for more than a gentle closed mouth kiss, but it seemed to do the trick._

_Andy gazed up at him, her warm brown eyes no longer clouded by unshed tears. "We should get some ice on that eye if you want to be able to open it tomorrow."_

_Sam let her push him into a chair and watched as she bustled around his kitchen, preparing an ice pack and wrapping it in a dish towel to protect his skin from direct contact with the cold._

_"Here, let me..." She pulled up another chair and pressed the ice pack gently against his black eye and bruised temple. They sat like that, Andy pressing  ice against Sam's swollen face, neither needing to say a word, both too tired for small talk, for fifteen minutes. Then Andy stood and removed the ice pack, throwing it in his freezer for later._

_"I don't know about you," she said in a too bright voice, "but I'm ready for bed."_

_Sam rose to his feet, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth at the sharp stabbing pain that moving caused. "Andy I can't--"_

_She smiled, cupping the uninjured side of his face with one hand. "I know. Just sleep, Sam. The rest can wait."_

_He followed her into his bedroom, let her slide his shirt over his head and unfasten his pants. She hissed at the bruises the covered his torso, but when he told her the doctor had done a CT scan and found no internal bleeding she handed him his pain pills and let him slide into bed. When she climbed in next to him, clad only in a tank top and panties, he pulled her against him and slept._

_Andy did not sleep. Could not. She lay in bed, listening intently to each breath he drew. She still felt like she was running, trying to save him. It was as if her brain had done three moves past panicked and was having trouble accepting the fact that Sam was okay. He was hurt, but nothing he wouldn't recover from before their one month suspension was lifted._

"You put an undercover officer's life in danger!" _Frank's voice echoed so loudly in her head she almost expected to see him standing in the corner of her bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, face set in angry disappointment. He was right. No matter what Sam had said she couldn't shake the feeling that if not for her, none of this would have happened._

_Sam mumbled in his sleep and tightened his arms around her. Andy felt a surge of affection, tinged with sorrow. She loved him. She realized she'd been in love with Sam for months, just too stubborn and stupid to admit it to herself. Now, in the wee hours of the morning as she lay awake, staring at the ceiling and counting breaths, she realized something else. She was bad for him. From their very first encounter, she'd done nothing but drag him down into the quagmire of misery that was her life. He deserved better. The only question that remained was if she was selfless enough to walk away._


	4. chapter three

February 3, 2009

_"This job can be rough. You're going to see things and do things that will stay with you forever. That's the job."  Detective Amelia Brocklehurst stood at the front of the room, arms hanging loosely at her sides, completely at ease._

_She scanned her audience. Eager puppies. Fifteen of them. In two weeks they would be set loose on the city. She felt almost sorry for Toronto. For all the training they did here at the academy, 80% of the job couldn't be taught in a classroom. She loved this part, giving eager recruits their first taste of what it meant to be part of the Toronto Police Service, but the real learning, the lessons that would stick, and the lessons that would make or break each person in the room, would start in two weeks; when they put on their uniforms and stepped out into the real world._

_The real world was harsh. Especially for a rookie cop. The lecture she gave today was designed to help them handle the harsh realities. As always, she hoped they would retain at least a little of what she said today. Of all the lectures she'd given in the last four weeks, this was the most important._

_Car crashes and shootings may be what the public saw as the hazards of policing, but she knew better. Alcohol, drugs and suicide were the real killers. Why? because of job stress. Bottle it up, stuff it down, stifle it, pile drugs or booze or sex on top until you can't remember what's down there. That was the way most of them dealt with the stress. And it worked... for a while._

_But eventually, months, years, decades later, the glass case would crack. At first just a hairline fissure; a burst of anger at an inopportune moment, a loss of control, a sleepless night, an unshakable sadness.  A little more booze, another pill, a one night stand - band aids for bullet wounds, a finger  in the dyke. It never lasted. The crack would grow until the fragile casing holding back the fear, anguish and rage broke in two. There were only two ways it could go after that, and neither was much fun._

_Death lay behind door number 1,  painful, awful, and more often than not, self inflicted. Door number 2 opened to the long road to recovery. It usually meant NA or AA or anger management or therapy, or some hybrid beast made of all four. It was humiliating, and the daily struggle never really ended._

_She fixed her eyes on a blonde in the front row, "Officer Peck. True or false? More police officers are killed on the job than commit suicide."_

_Peck looked for a moment like a deer in the headlights before answering, "True?"_

_"Anyone disagree with Peck?" Brocklehurst scanned the room. She could almost see the wheels turning as the rookies weighed their loyalty to their own against the possibility that Peck was wrong. Oh yes, this was definitely the best part of her job._

_A few hands raised hesitantly in the air, none reaching much higher than shoulder level, as if by keeping low they could avoid being noticed. She smirked, "you would be correct. Suicide is the leading cause of death among police officers in North America. So what does that mean for you?"_

_The room was deathly silent.  She let that silence hand awkwardly for thirty seconds before continuing. "It means, that this is one lecture you should pay attention to. Job stress is no joke."_

_She had most of their attention now. Those who had been only half listening, looking out the window or doodling on their note paper, were watching her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity._

_"Everyone handles it differently, and I'm not here to tell you that your coping method is wrong, or that you need to do it my way or you'll end up one of these statistics." She gestured to the graphs projected on the screen behind her. "What I hope is that you will all walk away today having learned one thing, and that is: talking about it is the bravest thing you can do."_

June 9, 2016

Sam pushed his chair back from the table. He'd been staring at crime scene photos for nearly an hour, hoping to find something that would connect these cases apart from cause of death. He had come up empty. All he'd earned for his trouble was a raging headache throbbing behind his eyes and a sneaking suspicion he was missing something obvious. He poured himself a glass of water and grabbed a pair of ibuprofen from the cupboard, promising himself the second he was done this case he would find a way to go back undercover. He was not cut out for this shit.

He gathered the photos, careful to keep them in order, and slid them back into their envelopes.  He looked at the clock and let out a heavy sigh. Technically evening shift ended only twenty minutes earlier, but he'd been home for nearly two hours. Despite the headaches, there were perks to being a Detective. Sure, you had to puzzle through impossible cases, but at least no one said a word if you took a case file and left the station two hours before the end of shift.

There was a knock at his door. Sam placed the case files  in a neat stack on the corner of his table, face down so no vital information was visible, and moved to answer it. He assumed it was Shaw. Oliver had mentioned he might swing by after he finished his paperwork. When he saw Andy McNally standing on his front porch, looking ready for a fight, he took a step back in surprise.

"I didn't take you for the type to hold a grudge." Her eyes were narrowed and her voice tight with ill-concealed anger. She was spoiling for a fight.

Sam stared at her blankly. He was still trying to process the fact that she was standing on his front porch looking like she wanted to hit him. Her actual words barely penetrated the fog of confusion. "Andy? What are you doing here?"

"You told Frank to reassign me." She crossed her arms across her chest.

This was not the Andy he remembered from five years ago. That woman would have died before confronting him like this, preferring to swallow her anger rather than taking the risk of appearing weak. Somewhere along the line she'd become the type of woman who didn't take no for an answer. It was impressive, and disconcerting. He wondered if the change had anything to do with him.

Andy waited for him to answer, the cold knot in her stomach growing by the second. She still couldn't quite believe she was there, but she'd been so angry she hadn't even realized where her feet were taking her until she'd turned on to his street. At first when Frank had announced she would be working traffic with Gail, she'd been a little relieved. Ignoring Sam the day before had been nearly impossible, but paying attention to him was unthinkable. She was hyper aware of his presence, she could feel him there so accurately she'd managed not to really even see him all day. It was exhausting.

"I didn't need three officers from fifteen." Sam said, the half-truth tripping off his tongue with surprising ease.

 "That was my case as much as Dov's or Oliver's, but you benched _me_."  She said, forcing her eyes to meet his. It was the first time she'd looked at him, really looked at him, in almost two years. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. She could feel her anger being pushed aside by a stronger, more painful emotion she refused to name. She shouldn't have come. 

 "It was nothing per--"

 "Right! " Andy interrupted, gathering her ebbing anger around her like a protective coat of armour, "the fact that you chose to get rid of me had nothing to do with our past. In fact, I must be insane to think it did, is that it?"

Sam looked down for a moment. If it had been anyone but Sam she would have called the expression on his face sheepish. "I'm sorry."

 She snorted.

 "Look," He stepped back, leaving the doorway open,  "come inside, have a beer. We'll talk."

She hesitated. This was the closest she'd been to him in years and she was suddenly hyper aware of her unbrushed hair and the fact that she was wearing once-white cotton panties that were really more grey than anything. She mentally shook herself. She was here to tell Sam off for kicking her off the case. That was it. She was absolutely not going to think about anything else. "Are you going to put me back on the case?"

"That's Frank's.."

 Her glare stifled the rest of his sentence. "Frank may be staff sergeant, but it wasn't Frank who wanted me off this case."

 Sam resisted the urge to slam the door in her face. Instead he stepped back and gestured for her to come inside. She hesitated, but gave in, though her eyes were wary, as if she thought he might be planning to knife her to death the moment the door shut behind them.

Little did he know that the vivid images flashing in her mind as she stepped past him into the familiar foyer, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes carefully averted, were of an entirely different nature.

When they were seated in his kitchen, both cradling beer bottles he spoke. "Look, Andy, I've been working this case for weeks out of 27, I really only need two bodies from 15, and Epstein and Shaw are partners."

 Andy looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "No they're not."

 "What?"

"Dov and Oliver haven't been partners in three years."

"I didn't know."

"You could have _asked_." A hint of a smile played around the corners of Andy's lips as the utter ridiculousness of showing up on Sam's doorstep to yell at him for not knowing she and Dov were partners sank in. She could feel a flush of embarrassment spreading over her cheeks.

"I thought it would be easier.."

"If we weren't working the same case?" She finished for him. The anger was gone from her tone and Sam felt himself beginning to relax.

"Yeah." He rubbed a hand over his short black hair. "I can talk to Frank."

Andy shook her head. "No, don't." She drained the rest of her beer in a few generous swallows. "I get it. This... what happened back then..." she struggled to put words to the jumbled thoughts in her head. Part of her wanted to make him do it, to get back on that case no matter what inappropriate feelings bubbled to the surface. A case like this could be a career maker. But there was a calm, rational voice overriding that impulse, reminding her of everything they had put each other through. No case was worth going through that again. "It's easier if I just stay away." She pushed back her chair and stood before he could say anything. "Thanks for the beer. I'm sorry I ruined your night."

Sam rose as well. "You didn't ruin anything." He smiled tentatively at her.

She returned the smile, "See you around?"

"Yeah." He stood perfectly still, eyes glued to the spot she'd stood long after she'd gone.

April 5, 2013

_"Andy?"_

_Andy blinked, and forced a smile, "I'm fine Trace."_

_"Are you sure?" Tracy took both Andy's hands in hers, "Because you are my best friend, and if you say so I will tell Jerry he needs to find someone else."_

_"Don't be crazy." Andy stood up and twirled, causing the red dress to flare around her knees. "What do you think?"_

_Tracy wrinkled her nose. "I think you're avoiding the question, and that dress is awful." She flipped through the half dozen bridesmaid dresses hung along the fitting room wall. She handed one to Andy. "Try this one."_

_Andy hung up the rejected dress and slipped the next selection over her head. "I'm not avoiding anything."_

_"MmmHmm,"  Tracy gave Andy an appraising look. "How long has it been since you saw him?"_

_"A little over two years." Andy zipped up the side of the dress._

_"What?" Tracy's mouth dropped open._

_Andy shrugged, "After we… he left and… I don't know."_

_"He never called, not once?"_

_"It was too hard, so I just… " her voice faded to a mumble, Tracy couldn't decipher._

_"What?"_

_"I changed my number," Andy shuffled her feet, "I knew he wasn't going to call, but--"_

_"It was easier pretending that he would?" Tracy finished for her, eyes warm and sympathetic._

_"Exactly." Andy sank onto one of the plushy pink stools, smoothing the pencil skirt of the dress with both hands. She covered her face with both hands, and moaned "I'm pathetic."_

_"You were in love." Tracy squeezed her shoulder._

_"Aagh!" Andy stood up, "Enough. I'm trying on bridesmaid dresses because you're getting married. Can we just forget about me and Sam and focus on how amazing this is?"_

_"We can, but I think we're done trying on dresses,"  Tracy said, gesturing towards the three way mirror._

_"You think so?" Andy surveyed her reflection critically in the mirror. The dress was crimson satin with a bateau neckline and a pencil skirt falling just below her knees, a narrow belt cinched the dress in at her waist.  It wasn't fancy, but it was stunning._

_"Absolutely." Tracy nodded, a canary-eating grin on her face._ Sam is going to die. __

_"Don't--" Andy said holding up one finger, "Don't even think it."_

_"Too late." Tracy said, ducking of the change room, leaving only her laughter behind._

June 9, 2016

"So..?"

"Ugh. Who told you?"

"Jerry, of course.  You know, sometimes I think he's the only one besides Leo who remembers I'm alive."

"I told him not to tell you!"  Andy whined, covering her face with both hands.

"Yes well… I give him sex, and I'm going to be giving him a baby so unless you want to take over one of those jobs, he's always going to do what I say." Tracy teased. "But seriously, Andy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Mmmhmm. Did Dov buy that?"

"Not really…" She admitted sheepishly.

"Alright, come on. I want details."

"There's nothing to tell. I'm fine."

"Andy, I love you and I am on bed rest, but so help me God if you don't start talking I am going to get off of this couch and beat it out of you."

Andy sighed heavily. "How much has Jerry told you?" 

"He said there was a murder that might be related to one of Swarek's guns and gangs cases so Frank called him in. Dov told me you guys were at the scene the first day. But you know men, they're completely useless at details."

"That's pretty much it. Dov and I were on the scene when Swarek arrived. The next day he had Frank take me off the case. I went to his house and yelled at him… end of story."

"You what? Andy!" Tracy's eyes were bright with curiosity.

"This is a huge case and there's no reason for him to kick me off. I was mad."

"No reason?"

"Fine. There might be a reason. But it's been five years!"

"And you're totally over it."

"Well of course not, but I'm capable of working a case."

"Andy, you went to his house."

"You're right, obviously I'm completely insane." Andy snapped.

"That's not what I said." Tracy rolled her eyes, " and they say pregnant women are irrational."

Andy tucked her feet up, wrapping both arms around her shins and resting her chin on one knee. "I didn't think it would be like this."

Tracy felt a rush of sympathy. She'd had her fair share of relationship complications, but never anything like this. Sure she'd been pregnant in high school  and that was terrible, but now she had Leo and Jerry, and in less than two months they would have another baby. Somehow being a teen mom didn't seem so bad anymore. "Don't you have some vacation time? I'm sure Frank would..."

Andy shook her head. "I'm not running away. Not again." She sighed, "I just wish I was doing something more interesting than traffic duty with Gail of all people."

October 9, 2011

_"I thought you were kidding."_

_"Wow, Dov. Thanks for the support."_

_"I'm sorry just... wait." Dov reached out as if her were going to physically stop Chris from leaving the apartment.  "You're my best friend. Can we just talk about this? You're my best friend for God's sake."_

_Chris dropped his bag and crossed his arms across his chest. "Fine. Talk."_

_"Can you...Will you just sit down for a minute." Dov struggled to marshal his thoughts into something resembling cohesion._

_Chris didn't move. "I'd rather not."_

_Dov wished Gail was there. She was always better at this than he was. Then again... she was probably the reason Chris was so eager to pack up and return to Timmins. "Is it because of...?" He sighed, "I thought we were good."_

_Chris snorted. "Not everything is about you Dov."_

_"Then what?"_

_"It's this_ place _. I'm sick of it. I don't belong here."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"Every day I wake up and you know what the first thing I think is? It's_ why am I still here _?"_

 _Dov looked down, hiding the hurt in his eyes. He knew Chris didn't love Toronto, but it was hard not to take the fact that his_ best friend _woke every morning hating his life personally._

_"Look," Chris dropped his arms to his sides, "Dov you're the best friend I have ever had. Nothing is going to change that. But I need to go home."_

_Dov nodded as if he understood. Maybe one day he would._

_"You've got Sue, Gail has Callaghan... you'll be fine without me. And we'll talk."_

_"Promise?"_

_"Every day. You can tell me about all the awesome cases you work and I'll tell you about the newest donut at Tim Hortons."_

_Dov smiled, "You're going to be so bored."_

_"Maybe. But I bet I make detective before you."_

_"You're on!"_

June 9, 2016

"I'm sorry I'm late. I forgot how hard it is to park down here."

Dov grinned. He hadn't seen Chris since Christmas. They tried to meet up for lunch or dinner every few months, but it was a long drive from Timmins down to Toronto, and between their schedules it was nearly impossible to make it happen. "Don't worry about it, I already ordered you a pint."

"I don't know how you put up with it man." Chris continued as if he hadn't heard, hanging his coat over the back of the chair.

"Denise?" Dov guessed. The last time he'd seen Chris, they'd gone shopping for engagement rings. Full wedding planning mode certainly explained the slightly manic expression in Chris' eyes.

"It's like she's possessed! I told her I was coming into the city and she wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to let her _and_ her mother come. They're over on Bloor trying on dresses and God knows what else."

The waiter appeared just then with two pints of Nickelbrook IPA.

Chris downed a third in a single swallow before setting down the glass with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Dov. I'm just...  Is this what my life is going to be like?"

Dov smiled, "It's just the wedding planning. It makes them a little crazy."

"Was Sue...?" Chris stopped himself mid sentence. "God, Dov, I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." Dov sighed. Ten months. He'd been a widower for ten long months, twice as long as they'd been married. Sometimes it felt like forever. Sometimes like it was yesterday. His friends didn't know how to deal with it. They tiptoed around the subject. He knew it was because they loved him. They didn't want to hurt him. But that didn't mean the constant subject changes, back peddling and apologies every time the conversation approached marriage, happiness, or love didn't sting.

Chris, one of his best friends in the entire world, was getting married. But instead of talking about that, instead of celebrating that fact, they were stuck in this endless cycle of avoidance. He remembered in the academy they had warned them about this. A blonde woman had stood in front of them and waxed poetic about the important of _sharing_. He'd spent most of the time trying to decide if it was too soon to ask out the hot blonde in the front row, but some of her words had trickled through. Enough that he thought he might actually feel better if they would let him, but no one wanted to hear the sad tales of widowed life. Not that he could blame them. He didn't want to hear his tale of woe either, he would have given anything to be able to have normal conversations, to smile without feeling like it was betrayal.

"Are you ready to order?" The waiter's voice snapped Dov back the present. He shot a worried Chris an apologetic look. It wasn't often he let his mind dwell on the past, but when he did he had a nasty habit of tuning out reality completely.

They placed their orders and Dov forced a smile and turned the conversation back to Chris' pending marriage. "How is your future mother in law?"

Chris grimaced, "Joanne is great."

"Riiight," Dov smirked. "Come on, you can tell me. I've never met them."

"Actually," Chris's eyes lit up, "Denise and her family are renting a cabin on the lake for the August long weekend.  We're going to do a big barbeque on the first if you wanted to come by and meet everyone."

Dov's good mood crumbled. He mumbled something about being busy and took a deep swallow of beer.

August First. How he dreaded that day. All around the country people would be eating burgers off the grill, drinking beer from coolers, setting off fireworks and generally enjoying the bliss of a summer afternoon free from work and school and responsibility - at least those employed by the government and those with employers nice enough to close down for the long weekend.

For Dov August first would never again be Simco Day. He wouldn't raise his glass to the abolition of slavery, or to a three day weekend at a cabin on the lake. Instead he would raise a bottle in a darkened room and drink to one year without her. That was how he would spend every August first, marking the one year anniversary of his wife's death.

August 1, 2015

_"What about this one?" Sue held up the newspaper so he could see the picture at the top of the ad. "Two bedrooms, gas fireplace, a backyard..."_

_"Nice,"  he set a plate in front of her. "Eat while you look."_

_She made a face at him. Three days ago, breakfast would have been a cold slice of three day old pizza as she ran out the door. But now Dov was watching her food intake like a hawk. It was a good thing she loved him or she would have been forced to stuff him in the trunk of the car or throw him off a bridge or something. Instead, she obediently took a bite of scrambled eggs._

_And immediately regretted it._

_"Out of my way," she pushed past him, barely making it to the sink before emptying the contents of her stomach. "Ugh." She groaned, leaning on her elbows against the countertop, head bowed._

_Dov reached past her to flip on the tap, washing the partially digested toast, eggs and orange juice down the drain. "Baby doesn't like eggs?"_

_"Nope." She took the glass of water he pressed into her hands and took a tentative sip. When she didn't immediately want to throw it up she smiled ruefully up at her husband. "No eggs for this little one."  She pressed a hand to her abdomen, only half aware she was doing it._

_Dov kissed the top of her head. "Want to try another piece of toast?"_

_"Sure," she said. Her phone rang and she picked it up off the table and kept moving. She felt a deep desire to shower and brush her teeth again before work. She glanced at the call display, she didn't recognize the number, but at six am she assumed it was work, "Hello?"_

_"Sue?" The familiar voice of her ETF team leader Duncan Cooper, confirmed her assumption._

_"What'd you need Duncan?" She squeezed a line of mint toothpaste across her toothbrush and hit speaker._

_"We've got a bomb threat downtown, I need you on scene ten minutes ago."_

_Sue cast a longing look at the shower. So much for that. "I'll be there in five."_

_"Kelner will meet you there. We don't have many details on this one, but fifteen division had been called for help with the evac so if that husband of yours is free, you might want to bring him along."_

_"Thanks." She clicked end, ran the toothbrush over her teeth for ten seconds, spat and made her way to the kitchen at a half jog. "Dov, I've got a call. Fifteen's doing crowd control, so if you want in, be ready in the next minute."_

_Dov drained his coffee in a single swallow. "I'm driving."_


	5. chapter four

June 7, 2016

_"Where is she?" I barely recognize my own voice, it's rough and menacing. I finger the cool handle of the gun tucked in the back of my pants. Funny that two months ago I'd never even fired a gun, now I don't feel whole without it._

_"I haven't seen Amber in over a year." He glares at me as if he isn't cuffed to his own dining room chair. As if I wouldn't enjoy ending his pathetic existence here and now._

_Anger surges hotly through my veins. My heart is hammering in my chest. With each thu-thump a surge of fury. The cliché is that you see red when you're angry. In my experience the colour of anger is white._

_Light spots dance at the edge of my vision._

_I pull a pair of pliers from my pocket. They're the smallest I could find. Concealable. Portable. Perfect for this. In three steps I am standing even with his shoulder._

_He watches me with widening eyes. "Wh-what are you doing?" Oh  yes, there's the tremble I was looking for._

_I curl my lip contemptuously but say nothing. Let him figure it out. I look down at his hands. I can see them, caressing her cheek with those stubby fingers. Who knows what else those hands have done._

_"I-I told you.. Amber ran off with some dude last year. I haven't seen either of them since." There are beads of sweat on his forehead. I suspect he's telling the truth, but that's no longer enough._

_I take his left hand in mine and isolate his index finger. He tries to jerk away, but he can only move so far with the cuff around his wrist. I chuckle at his futile efforts, which only seems to make him squirm more._

_"I don't know where she is!" His voice is now more of a shrill whimper than an actual voice._

_He tries to ball his hand into a fist, but I twist his index finger hard and fast. There is a loud pop as it dislocates. He screams and thrashes, fighting the restraints with all his strength._

_"Don't lie to me." I hiss in his ear. I hear a whimper from the next room. That bitch is next._

_He stops thrashing for a moment and I grab his finger. In a swift motion I pinch the rough edge of his fingernail between the metal lips of the pliers and tug straight out. Fingernails are pretty firmly cemented and all the first pull does is hurt. Especially if the nail is attached to a dislocated finger._

_He screams again and tries to pull away. "I don't know!"_

_Another tug, this time quicker and with more force. I feel the flesh beneath giving way. One more tug and it will rip clean off. "Of course you don't." The nail tears free. It's like ripping apart brand new Velcro. I can feel each cell in the nail bed reluctantly letting go of the nail as I pull._

_I lean close to his ear and whisper through his screams. "She's dead." I shake the nail free, wipe the blood off my on my pants and fasten the pliers around his middle finger, "because of you."_

June 19, 2016

Sam set a fresh cup of coffee on the table he'd co-opted as a desk for the last three days. Fifteen already had a full quota of detectives, so rather than sharing an office, Sam had taken over one of the interrogation rooms. The metal table was covered with pages of notes, and packets of crime scene photos. Sam picked up a notepad with half a page of his hand writing and scanned it slowly.

Two crime scenes. Seven dead. Four gang members, three bystanders.

Three of the victims showed obvious signs of torture: Vincent Aristu, Lucas Mariano and Maria Erhardt  all showed signed of being bound and were missing at least a couple of fingernails. Lucas Mariano's torture had been the worst of them all, he was missing all of his finger nails and  several toenails. The question  was _why_? Why those gang members?

Erhardt was a prostitute with track marks up her arm and two convictions for solicitation. Aristu was a low level courier. Mariano was the strangest of all, as far as Sam's gang contacts could tell, his connection to the James was that of customer and occasional pimp. Apart from bringing Erhardt and a few other girls into the James' fold, the twenty-five year old hadn't done a thing for or against any of Toronto's gangs. Yet he had suffered more than the others combined.  Sam tossed down the pad with a groan.

It didn't make any sense.

He took a long swig of coffee. Maybe once the caffeine kicked in he would finally be able to focus long enough to find the connection.

At least Andy was working evenings today. One less distraction. He shook his head. A lot of good that was doing, even without her in the station he couldn't keep his mind from wandering in her direction at regular intervals. They hadn't talked since she'd appeared on his doorstep, yelled at him for taking her off the case, and then told him it was better if they didn't work together. He wished he could blame his inability to get her out of his mind on the mixed message, but he knew it was more than that.

There was a brief knock at the door, interrupting his thoughts.  It opened to reveal Frank, a worried look on his face. "We've got another one. 116 Sackville, single victim, male in his twenties. Looks like the same MO as the other two, but I'm sending in homicide as well."

Sam stood, case file forgotten. A third shooting and still no closer to finding a viable suspect. These were the days he longed for the simplicity of an undercover gig.

March 23, 2009

_Two gun shots rang through the apartment building. Out of habit, Sam's right hand twitched towards where his gun would be, if not for the fact he was undercover and dressed like an addict rather than a cop. Fortunately Pedro was too busy launching a full scale panic attack to notice._

_"Relax." Sam said, boredom suffusing his tone. He turned to look out the window. A kid, probably sixteen or so, was running down the fire escape, his baggy orange t-shirt flapping slightly in the breeze his body created. Another kid, maybe ten followed in his footsteps. They hit the dirt and split, the one in orange disappeared into an empty building, his young friend stayed in sight, running down the road as fast as his little legs could take him. Sam smirked, "Unless the lollypop guild has a beef with you I don't know about, you're safe."_

_Pedro laughed nervously. "Let's just get this over with." He pulled a tiny bag of white powder from his pocket. "It's the good stuff."_

_"That's what you said last time." Sam pulled out a wad of twenties._

_"I said Mink said it was good stuff," Pedro corrected, turning the bag of drugs over in his fingers, "this shit is legit. From the man himself."_

_Sam sank down on the window sill, leaning his back against the frame. "You've got those kinds of connections?" He tried to sound impressed rather than skeptical, but it was hard to pull off. Pedro was a mouth, everyone knew that. Which made him useful for Sam, but for a man like Anton Hill, anyone running their mouth was a liability._

_"Not direct man," Pedro shifted his weight. "But I know a guy who knows a guy. The stuff is good."_

_Down the hall Sam heard banging knocks and calls of "Police, open up."_ Fuck _, he thought, looking out the fire escape and weighing the possibilities. With any luck whoever was clearing the building wouldn't try too hard to get into locked, empty apartments. "Cops," he said to Pedro, nodding towards the drugs still dangling from his friend's fingers._

_Pedro stuffed the bag into his front pocket. "Fuck. I hate cops."_

_There was a knock at the door followed by a sharp, feminine "Police open up!"_

_Pedro jumped like a scared rabbit._

_"Hey! Relax man, they're not looking for you." He waved the wad of cash in his hands slightly, "Come on, how much do you want for that?"_

_"Hundred and twenty for you," Pedro said, darting a nervous look at the door._

_Sam began counting off the bills as the cop outside barreled her way through the cheap padlock and entered the room, gun drawn._

_"That is a crappy lock," he said conversationally, giving the cop a once over with his dark eyes. She was young and unfamiliar._ A Rookie? _Sam wanted to slam his head back against the window frame. This was the last thing he needed today, some freshly minted cop holding her gun in his face._

_"Don't move." Her voice trembled slightly and she didn't seem to know exactly where to aim the gun, "Put your hands up."_

_Sam stood, shoving his cash into a front pocket._

_"I said don't move," her voice rose in pitch, "stay where you are."_

_Sam kept his eyes glued to her face. She was nervous, and nervous meant unpredictable._

_"I said don't move, stay where you are!" The gun wavered slightly, but her finger still wasn't on the trigger._

_The one good thing about Rookies, they usually thought too hard about every decision. Sam hadn't been a rookie in a very long time. Barely thinking about what he was doing, he ducked and stepped out the open window onto the roof, tossing a "See yah," over his shoulder._

_"No I'll--! Stop!" He could hear the frustration and utter confusion in her tone and felt a brief flash of sympathy for her. Whoever her TO was they were going to get an earful for letting a rookie clear a crime scene on her own._

_He glanced behind him, expecting to see Pedro right there. Of course he wasn't. Sam sighed and leaned back through the window. "Here we go," he said, grabbing none too gently at his friend's arm and pulling him through the window and towards the fire escape._

_He took the steps at a run, Pedro right behind him. The rookie cop followed more slowly, he could almost hear the panicked churning in her head as she tried to figure out what to do. "I said don't move!" she yelled fruitlessly down the fire escape after them._

_"Or what?" He called back, unable to resist. He heard her calling for her partner as they hit the ground and kept running. It was ridiculous but he felt a thrill of exhilaration. Something about running away from a cop made him feel about nine years old and a little giddy._

_When they were far enough from the building to avoid detection, Sam pulled Pedro behind a garage. He leaned against the cool cinderblocks, heart thudding quickly in his chest._

_"What is wrong with you?" Pedro gasped, glaring at Sam even as he leaned against the wall, hands on his knees, sucking in deep gulps of air._

_"Did you want to take a trip down town with that stuff on you?" Sam asked, pushing away from the wall._

_Pedro took off his hat, wiped away a trickle of sweat and then jammed it back on his head. "Look, I don't want no trouble from the cops, okay?"_

_Sam wanted to tell him that she was a Rookie and  the only way not to have trouble with a Rookie was to get as far from them as possible, but, of course, he couldn't. He sighed. "Pedro I'm sorry.. I-I-I wasn't thinking okay?"_

_"Yeah well.. maybe you should." Pedro's voice was more sullen than angry._

_"We're not in jail, right?" Sam said, pulling out his money and counting out six twenties. "Let's just finish this and call it a win."_

_Pedro looked down, a little sheepishly, "I can't, I ditched it."_

_"You_ what _?" Sam pressed one hand to his head. "Why would you do that?"_

_"Look, she was a cop. What was I supposed to do?" Pedro's voice rose in frustration._

_"Hey, hey, calm down. You--"_

_"Police, don't move." The same Rookie cop that they'd ditched at the apartment building stood before them. "Put your hands up right now, hurry up " She was breathing heavily and she looked every inch a Rookie, terrified and over-thinking everything._

_Sam raised his hands slowly._

_"Put 'em against the fence, both of you."_

_"Aw come on Lady, I don't believe this," Pedro moaned, planting his hands against the chain link._

_Sam followed suit, not taking his eyes off the rookie. If she was about to do what he thought, he might have a window._

_"Sir, be quiet," she snapped. She advanced on them, still breathing in sharp pants. Her dark eyes darted from one to the other and she seemed to realize for the first time that she would have to put her gun away to cuff them._

_Sam's muscles tensed. He had to time this perfectly, or he was going to end up in the back of a squad car._

_She put her gun in its holster._

_Without pausing for thought, Sam pushed off from the fence and ran._

June 19, 2016

"Rosati."

"It's Swarek, you got a minute?"

Jo held her cell phone against her ear with her shoulder so she could unlock her front door without putting down her coffee. "That didn't take long."

"What?"

He sounded harassed and she smirked. He was too easy. "Well I'm assuming you called me because fifteen division is collectively sick of you."

"Hilarious." 

Jo chuckled. "Sorry, you needed something?"

"Yeah,  remember the shooting last month."

"Dead guys, lots of blood?" She pushed the door closed with one shoulder and awkwardly flipped the deadbolt, managing not to spill her coffee only because the cup was half empty.

"Yeah, that one."

"What about it?"

"There was a third shooting today. We still have no leads--"

"And you hoped I saw something at the first scene that would fill in the blanks."

"Something like that." He said grudgingly.

"I'm sure I can spare a day or two, it was my case first y'know. Can't have you blaming me if you can't solve it."

"Right," she could practically hear the skeptical tilt of his eyebrows, "and this has nothing to do with--"

"No." Jo interrupted before he could finish the thought. "I'm bored, you're stuck, sounds like a perfect match."

"Anything on Jane Doe?" Sam asked.

Jo made a face. Trust Swarek to turn a conversation about his failure into one about hers. "Media ran her photo for a month and nothing." She kicked off her shoes and sank onto her couch. "Coroner said she'd had some pretty major work done, so we knew it was a long shot."

"Can you trace it through the surgery?"

"Since when do you waste your brain on Hollywood crap?"

Sam laughed.

"If we had suspects we might be able to narrow it down based on a nose job and cheek implants, but you know Doctors... "

"Kind of like drug dealers, not so good with details."

She smirked, "you would know."

"Can they sketch a few options?"

Jo shrugged even though he couldn't see her. "Tried that, with the surgery and the three day swim in Lake Ontario, the sketch guys looked like they wanted to kill me just for suggesting it."

"Missing persons?"

"Thirteen matching approximate height and age, and that's just Ontario. We're looking but it'll take time."

"And in the meantime..."

"I'm free to rescue your lazy ass."

"How about this, you help me solve this before someone else gets killed and I'll stop telling everyone at 27 that Jerry is the best Detective in the city."

"Is _that_ why Hansen thought you were gay?" Jo retorted, "here I thought it was all that hair gel."

"Alright fine, help me catch this asshole before he gets another one and I'll buy you the best bottle of scotch the LCBO has to offer."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"You don't trust me?"

"You just told me you think Jerry is the best in the city, I suspect brain damage."

"Jealous."

"Oh yeah, I've always wanted to have friends who would bleed me dry and then harangue me into betting my hair."

"I never told you that." He sounded genuinely confused and Jo smirked triumphantly.

"Jerry and I have shared some stories."

Sam groaned. "I'm hanging up now. See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be the hot one saving your ass."

The click of him hanging up was the only response. Jo shook her head, chuckling She propped her feet on the edge of the heavy cedar coffee table and picked up the remote control. She scrolled though the channels, but her mind wasn't on the screen.

Fifteen division. A small cold hand tightened around her heart. She'd managed to avoid Luke Callaghan since the wedding. She'd even gotten past the point where every tall, lean blonde set her heart thrumming triple time. sure he showed up in her dreams every once in a while, but so did Sam Swarek, and Kiefer Sutherland, so she told herself it meant nothing.

Yet there was that icy fist in her gut. And when she closed her eyes and tried to draw a deep soothing breath, familiar blue eyes tattooed the inside of her eyelids. She swallowed hard. _What did I do?_

August 3, 2010

_"Rosati, over here!" Jerry raised a hand, beckoning the detective over to the table where he and Luke were sharing  a pitcher of beer._

_Jo cradled her pint in one hand and focused on keeping her smile from wavering. Six hours ago she'd watched her once-lover make out with a doe-eyed rookie, but that didn't stop her traitorous heart from skipping a beat when he looked her way and flashed her a tentative smile._

_"I hear you're transferring to fifteen," Jerry said when she pulled out a chair._

_"News travels fast around here," she said with a slightly uncomfortable laugh._

_He grinned, "Only the good news."_

_"Flatterer."_

_Jerry feigned hurt, and Luke laughed. "She's on to you Barber."_

_"We can't all be perfect poster boys for the department like you Callaghan." Jerry topped up his glass._

_"He's got that respectable, clean shaven, short hair, lives in a suit look down now," Jo said, her mouth curling into a smile. "But you should have seen this guy when we first started working together over at 27."_

_Luke covered his face with both hands._

_Jerry's eyes lit up. "You're telling me he wasn't born clean-cut?"_

_Jo choked on her beer. "You're kidding right?" She pulled her Blackberry out of her back pocket. "I think I have a picture on here somewhere."_

_"Jo!" Luke protested weakly._

_She rolled her eyes. "Stop it, you know as well as I do, homeless-chic works on you."_

_Jerry burst into laughter. "Alright, now I've got to see this."_

_"Here," Jo held out her blackberry._

_Before Jerry could reach for it, Luke lunged across the table, snatching the phone from Jo and clutching it to his chest. He pressed several buttons before smirking and giving the phone back. He met the raised eyebrows of his fellow detectives with a defensive, "What?"_

_Jo shook her head. "I've got more at home," she said to Jerry in a stage whisper._

_"You wouldn't." Luke's eyes widened in horror._

_She ignored him, "Get this, Jerry, my first day at 27, some vice squad guy's wife is pushing out a baby so I volunteer to check on his UC. Well you know vice guys, always thinking their job is so complicated," she was warming to her topic now, hands gesturing broadly. "This guy is literally holding his wife's hand in the delivery room, phone to his ear. She's screaming bloody murder one second and threatening to divorce him if he doesn't hang up the phone the next and he's trying to yell over her, threatening to have my badge if anything goes wrong."_

_Luke, resigned to the fact that there was no stopping her from finishing the tale, drained his beer and stood to get another pitcher._

_Jo watched him go, giving his ass a good once over with her eyes before returning to her story. "Anyway, by the time I finally get him off the phone I'm late, so I book it to the rendezvous. At first I think I've missed him because the only living thing in that alley is a scruffy homeless guy picking through the trash, still I'm only five minutes late so I figure I better wait."_

_Jerry's grin stretched from ear to ear._

_"I light a cigarette, and lean against the wall. I'm not a smoker, but those vice guys lack creativity when it comes to signals so I take a drag and then spend the next minute hacking my lungs out." She shook her head, "they should teach smoking at the academy, anyone could have walked up and capped me, I was totally dead to the world for a while."_

_Luke returned with a fresh pitcher, "did she tell you she almost killed herself trying to look cool?"_

_Jo glared at him half-heartedly. "Anyway, I'm leaning against a cinderblock wall trying to breathe, and I see these ratty boots standing in front of me. And there is Luke, hair down to his shoulders, hasn't shaved or showered in days." She broke off into laughter. "I mean I have seen some UC guys let themselves go, but this was something else."_

_Jerry shook his head, shoulders shaking with laughter. "You have got to bring in those pictures."_

_"Count on it."_ __

June 20, 2016

Andy clipped her tie into place, giving her appearance a quick once over in the mirror before turning and exiting the locker room. A third murder and still she and Gail were stuck handing out tickets to pissed off Toronto motorists, and worst of all, she had no one to blame but herself.  She'd rehashed the last five minutes of her conversation with Sam countless times over the last two days, kicking herself for telling Sam it was easier if they stayed apart.

It was anything but easy. And not only because she was stuck doing the part of the job she hated the most.

Seeing Sam there every day, working within feet of him, without being able to talk to him, or joke with him, it was harder than she'd ever thought it would be. They'd been friends, in a way he'd been her closest friend, and she missed him. Not the sex, although she still woke up some nights dripping wet with his name on her lips, but the easy camaraderie that had made her first two years  at fifteen division fun. She loved her fellow officers, but she knew she would never find another partner like Sam.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, sealing the lid in place with one finger while reflexively scanning the room for Sam. When she didn't see him she felt her spine relax. Maybe he was still at the crime scene. She made her way towards the briefing room leisurely, for once a little early for parade and without a pile of paperwork to catch up on. It was amazing how avoiding Sam had upped her productivity.

She was halfway down the corridor when she heard Frank's voice. "I didn't know you were coming in today!"

Andy turned to see who he was talking to and felt her heart stutter in her chest. _Jo? What the hell is she doing here?_ A mixture of anger and hurt she thought she'd buried long ago rose to the surface. Not thinking beyond a deep desire to not be seen, Andy opened the first door she came to a slipped inside.

She shut the door as quietly as possible and for a moment stood with her forehead pressed against the cool surface, waiting for her heart to stop pounding.

"You alright, McNally?"

Andy let out a small startled yelp. The familiar deep voice came from right behind her and when she turned, hoping against all rational thought that she'd just imagined it she found herself face to face with Sam Swarek, so close she could feel his warm breath stirring her hair.

"D'you mind?" He gestured towards the door. "Trying to get out of here."

"Sorry," Andy took a step forward, expecting him to step around her. He didn't and suddenly her nose was inches from his chest. His scent, a blend of Bounce sheets, pepper and musky man, invaded her nostrils and she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his. Tentative at first, the butterflies in her stomach doing cartwheels.

Soft kisses, slow, sweet, filled with promise. Sam cupped her face with one hand.

Shivers raced down her spine at the touch of his calloused fingers. Lust coursed through her veins. A simple kiss and she was already practically dizzy with wanting him. She needed air, needed to think. She needed not fuck this up. Andy took a step back, forcibly breaking contact.

Sam's dark eyes tried to hold her gaze, but she looked down. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing came in gentle pants. "Andy..." His voice was barely more than a whisper and rough, though from lust or suppressed emotion he couldn't have said. He felt as if all the blood in his body was rushing to his heart, swelling it almost to the point of pain.

She took another step, her back hitting the door. She fumbled for the doorknob.

He reached for her, his hand on her arm stopped her retreat. Squeezing just tightly enough with his fingers to say _don't go_ without opening his lips.

Uncertainty flickered across her face. Her muscles under his fingers were tense, as if she were fighting the urge to flee. _Stay_ , his eyes pleaded with her silently. He'd let her walk away once before, but this time he swore it would be different.

Andy took a deep shuddering breath. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be with him. It was too soon. They'd barely gotten to know each other again. She wasn't the same Andy McNally who'd propositioned her partner during an undercover assignment five years ago and nearly gotten them both fired. Too much had happened.

Sam pulled gently at her arm and she half stumbled forward. Her hands came to rest on his chest, caressing the soft cotton of his shirt, the firm muscles beneath. Her eyes fell closed and she breathed in his scent, trying to commit it to memory. The one shirt he'd left behind lost its smell years ago, months before she finally threw it out.

He slid his hands up her back, pressing her tightly against his chest. He would never get enough of her, of this. He pressed a kiss against her hair, her forehead, her cheeks and finally, her lips. So soft. Opening under his, perfectly in synch with him, as if they'd been doing this all their lives. It was an almost unbearable pleasure.

Andy returned his kisses, pouring out years of frustrated love. Her hands clung to him, and she wondered if it were possible to pass out from desire. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't rake her fingernails across his scalp, swallowing his appreciative groan; shouldn't press her breasts against his chest; shouldn't grind her pelvis against his, but she couldn't stop.

It was Sam who broke the kiss. Trailing open mouthed kisses across her cheeks, her throat before dropping his forehead to her shoulder. his breath coming in harsh pants. The only sound in the room.

Closing her eyes, Andy let her head fall back against the door. Her heart was still racing two hundred beats per minute, but her brain was rushing even faster. _What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?_ The question was on a constant loop and she couldn't slow it down enough to even attempt an answer. All she could do was suck in oxygen and feel like she wanted to die. The only truth she could hold onto was this: she could die right here and now, with Sam's hands still grasping her hips, his scent in her nostrils, his taste on her lips, and be perfectly happy.

Sam straightened, his hands dropped from her hips and he took two steps back. He watched her with dark eyes that asked a million questions she couldn't answer.

_What did I do?_


	6. chapter five

June 20, 2016

_What did I do?_

Andy sucked in a deep breath through her nose, held it for a moment, and then exhaled slowly through her mouth. It was a relaxation tip she'd learned from a counselor the service had made them all talk to after Sue's death. Today it wasn't working. Five minutes ago she'd been starting just another day of working and avoiding Sam. Now she was standing less than a meter away, his scent in her nose, his taste on her lips. She hadn't meant to kiss him. Hadn't thought about it, hadn't even really known what she was doing until their lips met. She pinched her arm, had she dreamed it?

"Andy," Sam's voice broke the stillness between them. 

"I--"

"He's right in there, Jo. Good to have you back with us." Frank's voice filtered through the door, stopping any words Andy had been about to say.

"I've got parade," she said, turning the knob and escaping into the hallway, almost bowling over Detective Rosati on her way. She kept her head down until she was seated at the back of the room.

Any hope that her tumultuous emotions weren't broadcast all over her face died when Gail took the seat next to her, brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

Andy forced herself to nod and smile, "I'm fine."

Gail's eyes narrowed. "You're not."

"I don't want to.." Andy shot a quick look around the room, half afraid Sam had followed her here, half hoping he had. "It's nothing." 

"The Penny, after shift. You're telling me everything." Gail whispered as Frank took his place at the front of the room.

"Only if you're buying." Andy muttered.

"As I'm sure you have all heard, there was another murder this afternoon." Frank tacked up a handful of photographs on the board behind him. "Seven dead and we still have no real leads. The mayor is not happy, which means I am not happy. All hands on deck tonight."

Around the room everyone seemed to be sitting a little straighter. "Shaw and Peck, you two get to finish canvassing the neighbourhood where our last victim was found. Day shift has been knocking on doors for four hours, they'll debrief you when you relieve them."

Frank glanced down at his clip board, "Local and national news are running two stories for us tonight. Epstein and McNally, you're on phone duty. We're looking for any information on our Jane Doe here," He pointed to a sketch of a young woman in her late teens or early twenties. "Or this man," he tapped a second sketch, the latest victim. "Detective Rosati is with us tonight from twenty-seven helping out Detective Swarek, any good tips come in you take it straight to them."

May 18, 2013

_"Have to love a wedding with an open bar." Jo said, sliding onto a stool next to Sam at the bar._

_"What?" Sam didn't look at her, his eyes were glued to something on the other side of the room. From the furrow between his brows she gathered he wasn't happy with it._

_Jo followed his gaze, her gut clenching at the sight of Andy McNally taking Luke Callaghan's arm and stepping out to the dance floor. "You still love her, don't you?" It wasn't really a question._

_Sam took a deep swig of beer, "You still love him."_

_"We're both idiots." She signaled the bar tender and ordered a double whiskey._

_"It's his loss." Sam said, turning his back on the party going on behind them._

_"No, it's mine."_

_Sam downed his drink and signalled for another. "He's a cheater and a coward." Sam's voice was bitter, "Trust me you could do better."_

_She rolled her eyes, "it was one time... Like you never hooked up with her before they broke it off."_

_"That's different!" Sam protested._

_"How?"_

_"They weren't engaged." It sounded weak even to his ears._

_Jo laughed, "whatever helps you sleep at night."_

_Sam muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath._

_"That's no way to speak to your date." Jo said, tapping her glass against his before downing her drink in a single swallow. "If you didn't want me here, you should have invited Melissa."_

_"We broke up."_

_She gave him a look that suggested he was being deliberately obtuse. "Yes, I got that when she called me crying the next day. What the hell happened?"_

_Almost like a reflex, Sam's eyes found Andy's form on the dance floor. "It just… wasn't working."_

_Jo beckoned the bartender again. "Can you just leave that?" She asked with her sweetest smile, pointing to the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels._

_He looked from her to Sam and back at the bottle in his hands and shrugged. It was an open bar, what the hell did he care. He grabbed a pair of shot glasses and placed them beside the bottle on the counter. "Knock yourselves out, just promise me neither of you are driving tonight."_

_Jo pulled the hotel key she'd stashed in her bra so she wouldn't have to carry a purse half out, "No driving for us tonight," she said suggestively. The bartender didn't need to know she had no plan to seduce Sam Swarek that night, she just wanted him to leave the booze and leave them alone._

_The bartender grinned and winked conspiratorially at her before walking away._

_Jo rolled her eyes._ Men _. "I thought you two hit it off." She poured them each a shot. "Please don't tell me you broke up with Melissa because of_ her _." She tilted her head pointedly to where Andy and Luke were waltzing, looking every bit like a happy couple._

_"Of course not," Sam's eyes held a challenge, "just like you didn't agree to come with me because of Luke."_

_Jo wanted to protest, to say she was at Jerry's wedding because they'd become friends when she was at fifteen two years ago, but she knew it was a lie. As happy as she was for Jerry and Tracy, the first thought when Sam had told her he had an unused plus-one was how hot Luke Callaghan looked in a tuxedo. Her memory had not been exaggerating. "Fine! I wanted to see him."_

_Sam smirked and downed his shot. He poured them each another. "Drink up," he said, pushing it towards her._

_Three shots later, Jo rose cautiously to her feet. "Don't drink all of that without me," she ordered before striding, in a not-quite straight line, towards the ladies' room._

_Sam watched her go, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Some people could not hold their alcohol. He turned back to the bar and took a moderate sip of Jack Daniels, enjoying the smooth fire it blazed from throat to navel and the relative peace of drinking alone. This was not how he'd envisioned tonight going. Like a fool, he 'd thought Andy would be alone, that they'd get to talk.. maybe more. Somehow he'd forgotten about Luke fucking Callaghan._

_If his face weren't already flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the room, Sam would have blushed at the thoughts that had plagued his mind as he tried to sleep the night before. Seeing Andy at the rehearsal dinner had shattered every pretention he'd built up about being over her. She was still the most beautiful woman in any room. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her, just as he hadn't built up the courage, Dutch or otherwise, to approach her._

_"Hi."_

_For a moment, he thought he'd hallucinated it. Her voice was embedded in his soul, it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine he was concocting a phantom Andy to keep him company while the real, unattainable woman danced the night away with her ex-fiancé. Still, he couldn't help turning to face her, and nearly dropping his drink when he realized she was really standing there. "Hi," he managed._

_"How are you?" Andy's hands twisted awkwardly and her eyes couldn't quite meet his._

_"I'm…" Sam searched for a word for how he was feeling in that moment and came up empty, "good. You?"_

_Andy smiled tightly, "I'm good."_

_For several seconds there was complete silence. Sam studied her face intently, racking his brain for something to say but coming up empty._

_"Chardonnay," the bartender announced, setting Andy's drink on the bar top._

_"Thanks," she took the long stemmed glass in one hand. "It was nice to see you," she said to Sam, flashing him another tense smile, "I should…" she gestured towards the head table where Sam could see Luke, Jerry and Tracy along with a bunch of family members he barely recognized from the rehearsal dinner._

_"Okay," he said. As he watched her walk away he could have kicked himself. His place was at the head table, but instead, he was hiding out at the bar while Callaghan swooped in and played white knight to Andy's princess._

_He was half to his feet when Luke bent over and whispered something in Andy's ear. She laughed and hit him on the arm. Sam sank back onto the stool. Who was he kidding? He was two years too late._

_"What did I miss?" Jo asked, reclaiming her stool._

_Sam slammed back a shot before answering, "nothing." He looked down the bar, making sure the bartender was looking the other way before grabbing the bottle, "you want to get out of here?"_

_Casting one last look over at where Andy and Luke were sitting at the head table, Sam led the way out of the ballroom. As soon as they reached the hall he stopped, suddenly._

_Jo nearly ran into him, "Watch it! You--"_

_He pressed her against the wall and stopped her protest with a hard kiss._

_Jo turned her head away, "I'm not Andy." She whispered harshly against his shoulder._

_Sam stepped back, raised the bottle to his lips and took several large swallows before handing the rest to her. "I know, Andy's with Callaghan."_

_"Not here," Jo said, nodding her head towards the nearest door. She pushed it open with one hand, the other clutching the nearly empty bottle of whiskey._

_Sam followed her into the white-tiled handicapped washroom and locked the door behind them._

_Jo drained the rest of the alcohol and threw it in the trash before taking Sam's face in her hands and pressing her lips to his._

June 20, 2016

Jo watched McNally disappear down the hall with a bemused smile. Sam needed her help all right, just not in the way he thought he did. She stepped in to the room and closed the door firmly behind her before opening her mouth. "Again, really?"

"What?" Sam snapped.

"You and McNally. Don't try to tell me I didn't just interrupt something."

Sam remained obstinately silent.

"You can't do this again. Do you remember what you were like when you came to 27? Because I do. You were a mess. A bitter, angry mess who could barely hold it together for an entire shift unless we were so busy there wasn't a moment to think."

"What's your point?"

"We're friends, and I look out for my friends. I don't want to see you like that again. I don't want to see anyone like that again. You know that night, at Fox & Friar when we shared that bottle of scotch and..."

Sam's glare stopped her from completing the sentence, "what about it?"

"I never told you why."

He raised both eyebrows, "Why what?"

"Why I bothered." She leaned back against the glass, "You were going to kill yourself."

Sam snorted.

"Oh don't worry, I didn't think you were going to blow yourself away or take a handful of life-enders. But you may as well have. The way you were on the job, you were reckless. I knew one day you were going to go three steps too far and end up at the bottom of lake Ontario."

"So you thought you'd what? Fuck me out of depression?"

"No. I thought you needed reminding that sex is fun, and that any other woman you could get in bed would have a greater chance of biting down when you called her Andy McNally when her mouth was around your cock."

Sam made a move as if to leave the room.

"It worked, didn't it?" Jo asked as his hand reached for the doorknob.

He turned to face her, "Then why are we having this conversation?"

"Because you're about to take ten steps back, _again_ and I'm done enabling."

"So don't."

"After your second UC job, I thought you'd moved on. I introduced you to Megan and I thought you guys hit it off, but then the wedding--"

"You don't need to remind me."

"Don't I?"

Sam glared. "No. You don't."

"Okay, because I thought the fact that you got completely shitfaced and fucked me in a bathroom, calling out her name merited discussion."

"You're one to talk."

"Hey!" Jo shook her head, no way was she letting him make this a conversation about her and Luke Callaghan. "Maybe I was still hung up on him three years ago, but unlike you I've moved on. I have been in a relationship for the last year. You're still in love with a doe eyed rookie who chose Luke Callaghan over you. Even after he cheated--"

Sam scoffed. They didn't talk about it. Keeping this one subject taboo was how their relationship had survived for five years. Sam told himself it was forgiveness, but really it was denial. If they didn't talk about the fact that Jo had slept with Callaghan while he was engaged to McNally, they didn't have to face up to the complicated circumstances that had landed them both at the Fox and Friar, desperate for distraction, five years earlier. 

He'd never told her he knew, although they both knew he did. Everyone did. That was one of the downsides to the job. They were all cops, most of their friends were cops, eventually everything got around, no matter who tried to keep it quiet. Once one person knew, it was only a matter of time. Still, through an unspoken agreement, the subject had never come up. Until now.

Jo held her hands up in surrender. "Fine, even after the bitch from Homicide seduced him," she exaggerated the words, emphasising the ridiculousness of the situation.

Sam raised an eyebrow. He'd had that thought; when he first found out and been so ready to jump to Andy's defense that he could barely look at Jo or Callaghan without wanting to see their heads on a platter.  He'd called Callaghan weak and Jo and seductive bitch and he'd hoped they ended up miserable together for good.

"Even then, she took his side over yours. God that must have pissed you off."

"Why would it?" Sam's tone was belligerent and Jo knew she'd hit a nerve.

"Oh come _on_. You were so in love with that girl you couldn't see straight and she blew you off to chase his unsubstantiated hun--"

"She was right."

Jo sighed. "And she nearly got herself killed proving that, because you were too pissed off to go with her."

Sam folded his arms across his chest, his eyes shooting daggers at her.

"You were angry at me, too." Jo continued, appraising him cautiously, the same way he'd seen her look over a suspect before jumping into interrogation.  "I thought you would be mad at Luke, but you hated me. I never really thought about why, but it was because you and Andy almost fucked when she was with Callaghan, wasn't it?" 

Sam shrugged. She was right, but he wasn't admitting anything until he knew where she was going. The part of him that had been relieved that Andy was once again single had wandered into the dangerous grounds of if only… wondering if he could have been with Andy a year earlier, if only she'd told Luke about what happened the night of the heat wave. He felt grateful to Jo, and the gratitude made him hate himself. But he hadn't done anything wrong, not really, so he could hate himself. Instead, he hated her. He had no real reason to and somehow that made his hate selfless and he felt better for hating her. "Can you get to the point? I called you for help on the case, not to be psychoanalyzed."

"My point is, you and McNally have a seriously dysfunctional thing going on."

Sam glared at her. Sometimes, most of the time really, he wondered how they'd ever managed to make a friendship work. But even when he wanted to throttle her, she was usually right. Which only made him want to throttle her more. He may not like it, but she was probably right yet again.

"You've known her what, 7 years?"

He nodded.

"And you were together for less than 2 months... But you haven't had a single serious relationship in all those years because you're too busy hiding behind a bottle of booze and a cloud of self-pity to even look at what else is out there."

"Are you done?"

"Are you?"

He didn't bother to respond. Instead, he walked across the room, plucked a file from the stack on the table and held it out to her. "Take a look at this. Does anything  remind you of the first scene?"

Jo stood for several moments with her hands at her sides, just staring at him as if waiting for him to attack before reaching out and taking the file. She settled into a chair and began to flip through the pages. Behind her the door opened and shut, leaving her alone in the room. For now, she would concentrate on work, but she promised herself this conversation wasn't over.

May 18, 2013

_By the third glass of champagne, the butterflies in Andy's stomach found a cohesive formation for the first time all day. She'd barely eaten since the rehearsal dinner the night before and even the minimal alcohol was going straight to her head. She nodded at something Tracy's mother said, laughing along with the rest of the table though she had no idea why. Her mind was on the dark haired man sitting at the bar alone because he couldn't stand to sit at the head table with her._

_Or at least that was what the fear filled voice in her head had been telling her since the DJ started up and Sam headed for the bar._

_A passing waiter refilled her glass and Andy downed it in a single swallow. "Screw this," she said half aloud, pushing back her chair._

_Tracy's mother, who had been in the middle of her sixteenth baby-Tracy story of the night, raised an eyebrow as she watched her daughter's maid of honor weave her way across the room.  She shook her head and turned to the table next to them and began the story over again from the beginning._

_Andy was half way across the room when she realized she had no idea what she would say when she got there. She came to a halt at the edge of the dance floor, twisting her hands together, wracking her brain for something more creative then "Hi."_

_Except for last night at the rehearsal dinner where she'd stayed as far from him as possible. She hadn't seen Sam in over two years. Not since he'd left fifteen division. She knew, from Oliver and Jerry, that he'd worked undercover for guns and gangs at first. She'd half hoped he'd be on assignment tonight and back out of the wedding. Seeing him, but not being able to talk to him - at least not in their old way - was disconcertingly painful. She missed him, partner, lover, friend, he'd always been there and she'd taken that for granted, only realizing once he'd left just how much she'd given up._

_She had no one to blame but herself. She'd put their jobs at risk. She'd chosen the job over him. She'd let him slip through her fingers like so many drops of life-giving water. She was an idiot._

_"Looking good, McNally." Luke Callaghan smiled down at her._

_Andy wrenched her eyes away from Sam's profile and forced a natural smile."You clean up not bad yourself." His black suit was immaculately pressed, and his teal tie seemed to reflect in his eyes, sharpening their normally clear blue to an intense aqua marine._

_"Can I have this dance?" He offered her his hand._

_Andy looked past him to where Sam sat at the bar. Things between her and Luke had been nice in the last few months. The bitterness he felt towards her seemed to have disappeared and she couldn't find room in her heart to hate him after what she'd done to Sam. Luke Callaghan was a nice man, handsome, smart, but it wasn't Luke she wanted to be with, tonight or any night. It was Sam._

_She opened her mouth to refuse, but the polite refusal died on her lips. A familiar blonde slid onto the bar stool next to Sam. Jo. The butterflies in her stomach turned to ice. Forcing her eyes away she smiled up at Luke. "I'd be delighted."_

June 20, 2016

"And then what?" Gail's eyes practically glowed with curiosity. She cradled an untouched pint of beer between her hands.

Andy sighed, "Nothing. I left."

"Andy!"

"I know! But… _Jo?_ " There was a plaintive note in her voice.

"It's been five years." Gail rolled her lips together thoughtfully, "I thought you were over it." In fact, she remembered Andy telling her she was over it, years ago, when Gail had started dating Luke. "You said…"

"It's not that." Andy interrupted, "She and Sam, at Tracy's wedding…"

Gail's eyes widened. "What!?" It came out as more of a shout than a question. She'd had a lot to drink at that wedding, but when she wracked her brains she could almost see Sam and the blonde detective sharing a bottle of liquor at the bar. She hadn't thought twice about it at the time, too busy watching Dov feed Sue mouthfuls of fluffy white cake and wanting to cry and vomit simultaneously.

Andy shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It's fine, I just wasn't expecting…" She wasn't even really sure why she'd run when she did. Just because Jo Rosati was a fifteen division to help Sam on his case didn't mean he was sleeping with her, or in love with her… for all Andy knew Jo had actually come to help Sam on the case.  She buried her head in her arms, "aaargh!"

"Talking about the case?" Dov pulled a third chair up to their table and sat down.

"No, Andy's lov-- ow!" Gail rubbed her shin where Andy's rubber soled boots had made sharp contact. "Love of traffic patrol. She's devastated we didn't get to hand out any more speeding tickets today."

Dov looked between them, his expression curious. "Riiight." _She okay?_ he mouthed, inclining his head towards Andy.

"Yeah," Gail said brightly, shaking her head no. _Later_ , she mouthed.

"Well I for one need a drink after all that idiocy today." Dov poked Andy's shoulder, "How about it, partner?"

Andy raised her head to glare at him. "What are you complaining about? You didn't have to talk to that old lady who was convinced those were her grandchildren from Texas."

Dov snickered, "I'll buy the first round."

The back door of the Penny opened and Andy caught sight of a familiar head of black hair. Her stomach knotted and suddenly she wanted to be anywhere but here. "I should go." She said, standing, "You guys enjoy."

"Are you sure?" Gail gave her a penetrating look.

"I'm fine." Andy smiled as naturally as possible, "I've just had my fill of crazy tonight. I'll see you both tomorrow. Maybe we'll get a tip we can actually use."

Dov barely waited until she disappeared from view before turning to Gail, "Well?"

"You're _shameless_!" Gail said with a laugh.

"Come on, I spent today talking to every fame-seeking crazy in the GTA." Dove whined.

"I had to buy Oliver dinner, and then knock on people's doors like a vacuum salesman for four hours."

"See, your night sucked, my night sucked. The only way to make it better is for you to tell me what's up with Andy."

Gail rolled her eyes, "Your logic is seriously broken."

"I'll pick up the tab tonight?"

"Fine." Gail gave in with a triumphant smirk. She'd always intended to tell him, but the great thing about Dov was how easily he gave up his paycheck if he thought she was holding out on him. "Swarek and Rosati had sex at Tracy's wedding."

Dov's eyes widened. "They… really?"

Gail nodded.

"Does Andy know?"

"She's the one who told me."

"I didn't even know…"

"I know." Gail took a swallow of beer, "I mean I knew they worked together, and when she showed up today I guessed they were friends but…"

"Is Andy okay?"

"She says she's fine…"

"Which means she's not." Dov finished. "I need a drink." He stood up and wove his way through the mostly empty tables to the bar.

He returned several minutes later with a pitcher and an empty glass. "I can't believe this. Did she actually _see_ them?"

Gail shrugged, "I didn't ask for details."

Dov poured himself a glass and took several swallows before speaking. "Rosati and Swarek.. I did not see that coming."

"Tell me about it." Gail drained her drink and refilled her glass from the pitcher. "And for her to show up right after Andy kissed Sam.. talk about bad timing."

"What?!" Dov nearly knocked his drink over. "Way to bury the lead, Peck."

Gail smirked, "They made out in the interrogation room this morning."

"And..?"

"And then she heard Jo in the hall and ran away. The McNally special."

Dov whistled, "But she knew they were together."

"Two years ago."

"Okay, and now?"

"No idea. She didn't stick around long enough to find out." 

"Maybe she knew." Dov said a grin forming on his face, "Make-out with Rosati's boyfriend as revenge for what happened when she was engaged to Luke?"

 "Andy's not that petty," Gail said, "Besides, she's over the whole Luke thing."

"How do you know?"

"She _told_ me."

"Before or after you started dating him?"

Gail flushed, "Technically after, but she didn't know that, and she didn't care."

"Well of course she didn't, she wasn't in love with Luke."

"Who _are you_ , Dr. Phil?" She asked in incredulous tones.

Dov gave her a look. "You know I'm right."

"So that means…"

"She's still in love with Swarek."

Gail groaned. "This is not good."

"Tell me about it." Dov topped up both of their glasses, "And I have to work with her tomorrow fielding tips for the Rosati-Swarek tag team." He chugged half a glass of beer without pausing for breath.

"You should lay off the beer and get some sleep," Gail teased. "The last thing you're going to need tomorrow is a hangover."

"Ugh. I can't sleep."

"That dog?"

"And the newborn in the apartment above mine."

Gail winced in sympathy. "You _need_ to move. You've been saying so for months."

"I know, it's just..."

Gail waited but he didn't continue. "What's stopping you?"

"We were looking together, when Sue died." He stared at nothing, taking slow deep breaths. He hated saying those words, avoided them whenever possible, as if denying the truth that she was gone would bring her back.

"I thought Sue loved your place." Gail said, surprised.

"She did. We both did, but we needed another room, so we were looking. We saw the first place just before..."

Gail placed one hand on his forearm and squeezed it gently, wishing there was something she could actually do for him. Dov had coped amazingly with the loss of his wife in every area but one: the apartment. It was a mausoleum. Everywhere evidence of Sue, even after a year. No wonder he hates going home, she thought, it must feel every moment like she'll just step back in. The only sign of life around the place where the back neighbour's Jack Russell and upstairs tenant's new baby, both of which took turns creating unnaturally high levels of noise.

"She was pregnant."

Gail froze, drink hovering halfway between her mouth and the table. Her heart contracted painfully. "I didn't know.."

"No one did." Dov said, draining his whiskey. "Sue didn't want to tell anyone until she started to show... She was afr--" his voice choked and it was a moment before he could speak again. "She was afraid they would put her behind a desk."

Gail could feel tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She could practically see Dov cradling a tiny dark haired baby, or teaching a little girl with Sue's hair and Dov's eyes how to ride a bike. He would have been a great father. Just one more opportunity cruelly stolen in the line of duty.

Dov took her hand in his, twining their fingers together. "You're right," he said in a voice filled with forced cheer, "I need a new place."

Gail blinked away the dampness in her eyes. "We both have Wednesday off, if you want some company."

He met her eyes and for a moment neither of them could speak. His eyes held a warmth she hadn't seen in years. "I would love that." He ran his thumb over the length of hers, sending a shiver up her arm.

Gail was the first to break eye contact, flushing slightly. "Great. Pick me up at 8, I already have a few places in mind."

Dov squeezed her hand one last time before releasing it reluctantly.

"Darts?" Gail asked. She needed to do something with her hands, anything to erased the happy pins and needles currently racing through her blood. They were friends, that was all.

"What do I get when I beat you?"

"I'll buy lunch when we're house hunting?"

He shook his head, "If I win, you man the tip line with Andy tomorrow."

"And if I win?"

Dov laughed, "Yeah.. that'll happen."

"If I win, you're putting all new furniture in your new apartment."

He gave her a strange look and then shrugged. "Sure." he rose to his feet, "Another pitcher?"

"Absolutely."

 


	7. chapter six

June 21, 2016

It was noon when Gail peeled her aching head off the pillow, rising slowly to her feet. She staggered to the bathroom, barely managing to shed her clothes before stepping into a piping hot shower. The night before was something of a blur. Lots of talking and drinking. Lots and lots of drinking. She leaned her forehead against the cool wall of her shower while the water pounded against her flesh.

When she was clean and felt a little more human, Gail dressed in the first clothes she could find and made her way to the kitchen. A morning like this called for coffee and some easily digestible breakfast foods.

She was rummaging through the cupboards looking for the perfect hangover breakfast when she heard Dov moving in the next room.

"Cereal or French toast?" Gail asked without turning to look as she heard Dov enter the kitchen.  "Speak now or I'm feeding you oatmeal." She threatened teasingly when he didn't immediately respond. She pulled down a box of Quaker oats, expecting any moment for Dov to stop her and beg for anything else. She still remembered the morning four years earlier when she found him curled around her toilet bowl mumbling about  how he would never be able to look at oats again.

She placed the box on the counter and turned. "Dov?" He stood in the doorway, his phone dangling from one hand. His face was white as a sheet and his eyes didn't seem to be able to focus on anything as they darted back and forth around the room. "Dov?"

Breakfast forgotten, Gail closed the distance between them. "What happened?" She placed her hands on his cheeks, forcing his face to turn towards her. "Dov!"

"It's Chris," Dov said in a strange voice, "He was in an accident last night…"

Gail's heart seemed to stop in her chest. She hadn't talked to Chris since the funeral, but she knew he and Dov still kept in touch.  "Is he okay?"

Dov shook his head, "He's in the hospital… they don't know if he's going to make it." 

Her stomach turned to ice. Chris couldn't die. He was twenty-eight years old. He'd been her first friend at fifteen division.  He was _Chris_. She sank into a chair, her mind refusing to process the idea that she might never see him again.

"I have to go," Dov said abruptly.

Gail watched him walk out of the room,  the meaning of his words not sinking in until she heard him grab for his keys off the table by the front door. She was on her feet in seconds, racing for the door. "I'm coming with you!" She called grabbing her jacket and work bag and following him out the door.

Dov stopped at the bottom of the steps, his expression unreadable."You don't have t--"

"He's my friend too." She walked past him towards the car parked in her driveway. "Besides, you're not driving nine hours by yourself hung over, on six hours of sleep."

With a sigh that clearly indicated his displeasure, Dov unlocked both doors and climbed behind the wheel.

Gail buckled her seatbelt with one hand, the other holding her cell phone to her ear. It took less than two minutes to explain to Frank that they wouldn't be in that day. The staff sergeant insisted they keep him up to date. Chris may have left fifteen division for a quieter life, but he would always be one of theirs.

September 2, 2008

_"I know sweetheart, I'm coming home this weekend."_

_The tall brunette, Dov thought his name was Chris but wasn't entirely sure, stood in the middle of the hall, cell phone pressed to his ear one hand massaging his forehead as if to stave off a headache. Dov felt a twinge of sympathy. The academy was intense. He was almost glad he didn't have a girlfriend on top of all the work. Almost…_

_"I'm sorry. It's just…I know, but--" Chris sighed, "Look, Denise, I have to go."_

_One by one the recruits began to filter back towards their seminar room. The hot blonde who always sat in the front row and seemed to know everything leaned casually against the white wall, savouring the last few ounces of coffee. Her pale eyes fixed on Chris' figure and one corner of her mouth lifted in a derisive smirk._

_"I miss you too."_

_The blonde rolled her eyes. Dov wondered if she had a boyfriend. If he'd seen her walking down the street he would have assumed she did, if only because no one that hot stayed single for long. But two days at the academy and he hadn't seen her so much as talking to another recruit, and it wasn't because she was shy._

_"I love you." Chris snapped his phone shut and shoved it into his pocket._

_"Aww," The blonde pushed off the wall, her red lips curled into a condescending smile. "It's sweet how you check in with your mommy every break. She must be so proud of her little boy, all grown up and still hanging tight to the apron strings." She tossed her empty cup in the trash and disappeared into the classroom._

_Dov turned to look at Chris, whose mouth was hanging slightly open, brow furrowed as if he was still trying to process what had just happened and was failing miserably. "Can you believe they're going to give her a gun?" Dov joked. "I mean thank God for kevlar."_

_Chris gave him a weak smile._

_"Dov Epstein," Dov held out his hand._

_"Chris Diaz," They shook hands and this time Chris' smile was genuine._

_"And of course you've already met The Robot," Dov tilted his head towards the doorway the blonde had disappeared through a minute earlier._

_Chris chuckled. "What's her deal anyway?"_

_"I have no idea."_

June 21, 2016

Jo slapped a pad of paper down on the table before her, “I hate this case.”

Sam shook his head. Jo was a great detective, but patience was not her strongest suit. It was frustrating, seven dead in four weeks, and they had not a single lead they could pursue. The previous day’s tip hotline hadn’t turned up anything worth a second glance and he had little hope for today. Sam was running out of ideas. Waiting for their killer to strike again was not an appealing option, but unless they found something soon it might be their only one. “Anything on your Jane Doe?” He asked hopefully.

Jo sighed, “I’ve been going through missing persons photos for so long they all look the same to me.” She sank back in her chair, looking defeated, “Makes me wish we were on CSI and could just run the photo through some miraculously accurate facial recognition program.”

“That’s not in the budget, but why don’t you get McNally to sift through the photos?” Sam suggested in what he hoped was a casual tone, “She’s manning the tip line again today and she’s got a good eye for details.” Not to mention that if she was working the case he might get to speak with her. He had barely seen her since she ran out the day before.

Jo stared him down for a full minute before nodding, “Yeah, I’ll do that.” She picked up a slim folder of artist sketches and photos of her Jane Doe. “Anything yet today?”

“Nothing off the tip line or from the canvass yesterday.”

“What if we pull in some gang bangers, see what they know?”

Sam weighed the option. He’d been reluctant to take their investigation to the gang until they had a concrete lead or at least a solid theory, but they were running out of options and with each day that passed with no leads the trail was growing colder. “Worth a shot.” He decided.

“Excellent,” So stood, “Let me give these to McNally. Be right back.”

Sam almost offered to take them for her, but stopped himself. As much as he needed to talk to Andy, the talk they needed to have wasn’t going to happen in the two minutes it would take to drop the file off and let her know what they needed.

 

Andy twirled a pen idly between two fingers, wishing bizarrely that she had some paperwork to catch up on so she wouldn’t feel quite so useless. She knew someone had to man the phones, and she rationalized that it may as well be her, but that wasn’t really making a day of sitting behind a desk sound any more appealing.

“McNally, you have a minute?”

Andy’s spine stiffened at the familiar voice. She turned, forcing her face into a neutral expression. “Sure.”

Jo held out a manila folder. “We found her about four weeks ago in Lake Ontario. Haven’t been able to get an ID off prints or tips. Just got a couple new renderings last night of what she might have looked like before the plastic surgery.”

“You want me to go through missing persons and ID her?” Andy guessed, taking the folder.

“If you can. I was at if for four hours last night and a couple this morning.” Jo smiled self-deprecatingly, “I can’t tell one from the other anymore. I could use the fresh pair of eyes.”

Andy nodded. “Sure.” It was tougher than most people realized. After a hundred pictures your brain started to think every one was a match, or worse, that none would ever be. Like writing the same word over and over, repeated scrutiny of the artist’s renderings inevitably led to a point where familiar features looked foreign, as if the artist had drawn them in not quite the right place or proportion.

"Thanks," Jo smiled, "Let me know if you find anything."

"Will do," Andy watched Jo until she disappeared from view, into the room where she knew Sam was working. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably. She need to talk to Sam. She was dreading it. What if she was right about him and Jo? But she knew she wouldn't rest easy until she knew one way or the other.

He'd kissed her back. She held on to that thought, and the look in his eyes before she'd fled the room - like he's just woken from a dream.  Those two things kept her sane as she flipped open the folder and got to work.

The first piece was a police artist sketch labelled with  a 1, indicating it was the first attempt. A quick flip through told Andy there were at least three more. The girl in the drawing couldn't have been older than twenty. Along the bottom of the page someone had written _height: 170cm, weight: 59kg, hair: brunette (dyed?), eyes: hazel, race: Caucasian, age: 19 ?_

The next three items in the folder we photographs from the scene. Andy leafed through them slowly. A face bloated and blue from hours floating in the lake before she'd washed ashore. Andy closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She'd seen more than one dead body in her years as a cop, but this one was more disfigured than most. When her stomach stilled and she no longer felt like she might be sick, she flipped to the next drawing. This one was strikingly different from the first. The face looked years younger, the wide set almond shaped eyes were green, the slightly curling shoulder length hair was auburn and the age written in at the bottom was 17.

No wonder Jo hadn't been able to ID her. Andy placed the first two sketches side by side on the desk in front of her, ignoring the other two sketches for the moment. There were a few similarities. Both drawings showed a pretty young woman with wide set almond shaped eyes, a straight nose and plump, bow shaped lips. If she had seen the two women walking down the street she would have assumed sisters, maybe cousins.

She placed one of the photographs between the two drawings. It took a couple of minutes to see past the bloated skin to the girl underneath. Andy was no artist, but she was getting an idea of what Jane doe might have looked like when she was alive. When she was confident she would recognize this face if she found it in the system she turned to the computer and pulled up the missing persons database.

She started with a search for women in southern Ontario 15-25 and sat back, waiting for the list to populate. The number of hits was disheartening. She filtered the search a little further, adding a height range, and eliminating African Canadians and Asians from the list. With the list narrowed to a manageable size she began to flip through the photos. Most were easy to eliminate and within half an hour she'd made it through the list, flagging the few who could conceivably match Jane Doe.

The tip line remained ominously silent and she found herself silently thanking Jo for giving her something to do, even if it was tedious work. She expanded the search to the provincial database and began the process all over again.

She'd been at it for about two hours when Jo appeared in front of the desk. "How's it going?"

Andy shrugged, "no perfect matches, but a few maybes. I was just going to look at the national database."

"but first you are coming to lunch." Jo said, leaning over and hitting a few keys on the keyboard to put the computer to sleep. "the national database will wait."

"I'm fine." Andy protested.

"I'm sure you are," Jo's voice was friendly but unyielding, "but I am _starving_ and I hate eating alone, so let me buy you lunch."

Andy raised one eyebrow, "Sam's here." she pointed out, watching Jo's face to see her reaction.

"Who is a stick in the mud." Jo retorted with a grin, "I don't know about you, but I spend enough time with dead bodies. I prefer not to talk about them while I eat."

Andy smiled at that. She'd noticed when she was with Luke that he liked to talk about anything but work while he ate and wondered if it was a habit left over from when he had been with Jo. Years ago such a thought would have made her feel slightly ill, but she'd moved long past Luke and Jo.

Jo looked thoughtful. "Unless you invited him."

"I--- what?" Andy felt like her brain was free falling, like she was Alice and she'd just slipped through the looking glass. She'd been so convinced that Jo and Sam were together...

"Come on, has he ever said no to you?" Jo asked. There was a tension in her voice that Andy couldn't quite put her finger on.

The part of her brain that still hated Jo, even after all these years, tried to come up with a million times Sam had said no to her... And failed. Sure there had been times when he hadn't done exactly what she want, but he'd never said no, not when she ask him directly. Even when they'd been partners, he'd always covered for her, even when he thought she was doing something stupid. "We were partners," she said, as if that explained everything. When it came to Sam she thought it just might.

Jo shrugged, "Okay, can you take these to him, let him know we're ducking out for an hour? I need to talk to Frank for a sec."

Still feeling like she was in the twilight zone, Andy took the file from Jo's hand.  She could feel Jo's eyes on her as she walked down the hall. It was discomforting. She still wasn't sure what Jo's angle was. Either she and Sam together and she was making sure Andy knew she wasn't the least bit worried, or was she playing matchmaker? Andy told the butterflies that stirred up at the second option to go away. As much as she wished it, she was also pretty sure she was kidding herself if she thought Sam still wanted her after all she'd put him through. Taking a deep breath she turned the doorknob and stepped into the interrogation room turned office where Sam was working.

He didn't look up and she took advantage of the opportunity to study him.  He looked tired. There were a few grey hairs at his temples she hadn't noticed before and he could use a shave. She swallowed an insane urge to kiss away the dark circles under his eyes and worry lines furrowing his brow.  "Sam?" her voice trembled slightly and she cursed herself inwardly.

Sam's heard jerked up; his eyes seemed to light up for a moment before he schooled his face into a more neutral expression. "Find anything?"

She shook her head, "Jo asked me to give you these," she held out the file but couldn't seem to make her feet move across the room to actually hand them over.

An expression that could have been disappointment flickered across Sam's face. He pushed his chair back and stood. He rounded the table. "Where is she?" he asked, taking the folder from her.

Andy's heart stuttered painfully against her ribs at his nearness. "She's talking to Frank." There was an awkward pause. Sam didn't move, he was close enough she could smell his unique scent, it was not helping the butterflies. "We're going out for lunch," Andy added, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, not quite meeting his gaze. 

Sam blinked in surprise. This was the last thing he'd expected after his conversation with Jo the day before, if it could be called a conversation. Jo sending Andy to talk to him, or even Jo befriending her was about the last thing he'd ever expected. He wondered what she was playing at. For a brief moment he had a horrifying vision of Jo attempting the same strong-armed, over-protective shtick she'd given him on Andy. He shuddered inwardly; this was a terrible idea.

"Did you want to come?" she asked tentatively when he didn't speak.

Sam's eyes met hers and for a moment it was the day before, his eyes we warm. Andy's knees felt weak. "I think I will," he said.

 Andy waited, standing in the doorway, feeling awkward, while Sam grabbed his coat. She was going out to eat with Sam and Jo. It was surreal, but in a very good way. As she followed Sam out of the room she felt light; for better or worse, she felt like she was going to get the answers she needed.

 

Jo leaned casually against the wall of Frank's office, looking out over the bullpen. She saw Sam and Andy standing awkward and silent. This was going to be tougher than she thought.

The fight with Sam the day before had given Jo a lot to think about. She'd been so sure that Andy McNally had no real feelings for Sam, and even more sure that the only way Sam would ever really be happy was if he was able to break out of the cycle he seemed to be stuck in, the one that revolved around McNally as if she were the sun. But she wasn't certain any more. There was a fragility to McNally, a brittleness that spoke of hurt and loss. Something she hadn't had when Luke cheated on her with Jo. It wasn't much, but it was enough to convince Jo that the only way for Sam and Andy both to be happy was to let them live out the fantasy. If it lasted, great. If not, an ending more final than the first, which she understood only came about because the white shirts threatened both their jobs, might just push them both into the arms of the ones they were meant to be with.

She sighed, wishing she'd ignored Sam's phone call and stayed at twenty-seven. She wasn't cut out for this matchmaker business.

 

Andy didn't think she'd ever had such an awkward meal in her life. They had barely walked through the door of the Penny when Jo's phone buzzed and she disappeared back into the parking lot. Five minutes later, she reappeared, but only to say they needed her at 27 and to apologize for ducking out. "Call me if you find anything." she said to Andy, raising a hand in a wave.

It would have been ridiculous to turn around and leave, so they'd ordered and made awkward chitchat like total strangers until the food arrived. Andy didn't understand it. This was Sam. She knew, in her head at least, that five years was bound to change things, but in her heart she'd never admitted it; they'd changed, they both had. The trust and friendship they had once shared was gone, and she didn't know any more if they could get it back.

It wasn't until Sam asked the question he'd been desperate to know the answer to for five years, the same question she was too afraid to voice, that she realized he might be as nervous as she was.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No," she shook her head. She had dated. She'd never expected Sam to come back, it would have been ridiculous not to have at least tried to find someone else. But nothing had felt right, nothing had stuck. She'd had some good times, but the four men she'd seen since Sam disappeared hadn't held a candle to him. "You?"

He shook his head, not looking away from hers.

"Jo?" she asked, a mental image of Jo sliding on to a bar stool next to him, of them disappearing out a side door, a mostly empty bottle of liquor dangling from her fingers, looking every bit like they were going to have sex in the hall flashed before her eyes. She dropped her gaze down to the half-eaten salad before her.

Sam's hand reached across the table covering hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. "We were never..." he trailed off, running his thumb over the back of her hand, "It wasn't anything. We ended it year ago."

She wanted to believe him. But the image in her mind was not dispelled so easily. "Tracy's wedding?"  she looked up at him, her eyes filled with questions.

"Was the last time." He tightened his hold on her hand, letting the silence hang between them for a moment, "Look, Andy, a lot has happened, and I will tell you anything you want to know... But not here."

Andy nodded. The conversation they needed to have would take more than the half hour left on their break, and a setting a little more private than a table at the bar where all of their colleagues and friends ate.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

"Yes," Andy smiled.

He returned her smile and released her hand. "how's it going with Rosati's Jane doe?"

Andy described her search so far and how difficult it would be to get a positive ID given the condition of the body.

"Sounds like my case," Sam said sympathetically. They pushed back their chairs and headed out of the restaurant. They discussed his case the rest of the way back to the station.

"Pick you up at 8?"  Sam asked as they climbed out of his truck.

She agreed and they went their separate ways.

October 10, 2010

_“Beer?” Sam offered holding out a chilled bottle to his friend._

_Oliver shook his head. He looked miserable and for a moment Sam felt a pang of guilt, followed quickly by annoyance. Oliver should never have asked his advice on what to tell or not tell his wife. What the hell did Sam know about making a relationship work?_

_“If you change your mind they’re in the fridge.” Sam twisted the top off and pushed the fridge door shut._

_They sat in silence for a long time. Sam took slow sips of his beer, Oliver stared at the patch of wall between the kitchen sink and the cupboards above as if it held the answer to all his woes. Several times Sam opened his mouth to speak, but all he could think of were empty platitudes he knew would probably hurt more than help. So he took another swallow of beer and let silence reign._

_“I should call Zoe.” Oliver said eventually. He pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and flipped it open._

_Sam rose and slipped out of the kitchen, giving his friend what privacy he could in the small town house. He couldn’t help but overhear snatches of conversation. Clearly the previous night’s anger hadn’t yet cooled._

_Defensive apologies morphed into a softer tone, Oliver’s words absorbed by the wall between them. Sam set his empty beer bottle on the table and sank back on his couch, a hint of a smile on his face. Zoe was a pretty remarkable woman to put up with Oliver all these years. Sometimes he was a little envious of Oliver’s good luck. She was a wonderful woman, but it wasn’t Zoe he coveted, it was the easiness between the couple, like they both knew no matter what happened their partner would be there. Even, apparently, if the situation involved strippers._

_Sam had never had that, not really. His parents were dead. His sister, though she loved him dearly, had her own problems to deal with. He’d never had a relationship that lasted more than a year and certainly never one serious enough to develop the bond Oliver and Zoe shared. The closest he’d come was Andy…_

_He shook his head._ No _. They were partners, yes, but on the job. On the job your partner had to have your back, no matter what. It was the only way you both made it out alive time after time. Even if he’d never trusted a partner as much as he trusted her, he would be a fool to think it was anything but a great working relationship. She may not be engaged to Luke Callaghan any longer, but she was far from interested in anything more than friendship with Sam. She’d made that much perfectly clear over the last year. At one point he’d thought maybe… if Luke was out of the picture, but harsh reality had long since sunk in._

_Oliver’s voice had faded to a barely discernible murmur, the individual words swallowed by the wall that separated them. Sam didn’t even notice he’d stopped speaking until he appeared in the doorway, phone dangling from his fingers._

_“Alright?” Sam asked._

_Oliver shrugged, “I’m not getting off the couch any time soon, but at least it’ll be her couch, not yours.”_

_“Good, I don’t make enough money to feed you for multiple days.” Sam teased lightly._

_Oliver faked a laugh, but the smile, heavily flavoured with relief, was genuine. “Remind me never to take your advice again.”_

_Sam gave him a look that clearly indicated it was Oliver’s fault for asking Sam in the first place. “Fine by me. Need a ride home?”_

_Oliver shook his head, “The girls are already asleep and Zoe’s got an early morning. I told her I would stay here tonight.”_

_Sam translated that into ‘she agreed to let me come home but if I go tonight there will be yelling so I’d rather not,’ and nodded his assent. “Want that beer now?”_

_“No thanks brother.” Oliver sank into the worn leather armchair across from Sam. “I’m going to give you some free advice, since you clearly suck with women.”_

_Sam took the insult with good grace, it was mostly true anyhow. He expected a joke, some insult to his manhood or sally against his mother... the usual banter. What came out of Oliver’s mouth instead caught him completely off guard._

_“Talk to McNally.”_

_“I talk to her almost every day.” Sam said after a moment of stunned silence._

_Oliver looked as if he would like nothing more than to bang his head repeatedly against a wall, or his fist against Sam’s face. “Come on Sammy.”_

_Sam remained stubbornly silent. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that wasn’t what Oliver meant, it was probably even good advice, but he was damned if he was going to tell anyone how he felt about McNally when he knew he would never act on it and even if he did she didn’t reciprocate._

_“She’s not your rookie anymore. She’s single. Everyone but McNally knows you love her. How many more reasons do you need?” Frustration made Oliver blunter than usual. “What do you have to lose?”_

Everything? _Sam thought, a cold knot forming in his stomach. He shot Oliver an incredulous look. Sure, he could corner McNally and tell her he’d wanted her since their second shift together and been well on his way to loving her by week three… and then her eyes would go wide and scared like that night he would never be able to erase, never wanted to erase, when the lights had come on and he’s seen the lust clouded terror in her eyes. He’d ignored it, told himself it was normal to be afraid when you threw yourself into a new and forbidden relationship, he knew better now. He’d seen how she looked, heard how she sounded, when she was happy. Luke made her happy. If he hadn’t cheated on her she would still be planning a wedding._

 _If he told her how his heart raced just being near her, how hers was the first face he sought in every room, even if there was no reason for her to be there, how his dreams hadn’t featured another woman in over a year… and she would be nice. She cared about him, they were friends, she wouldn’t want to hurt him. But she would tell him they were better as friends or she wasn’t ready or she didn’t love him_ that way _and then it would be over. Awkwardness would crowd into their partnership, an unwanted third person made up of all the words they both wished unspoken, and it would sink, slowly but surely until they had no choice but to bail out and go their separate ways._

_No, not speaking was best._

_When she’d shown up at the division with another man’s diamond ring on her left hand he’d felt like his heart had frozen in his chest, but he’d survived. And now, Luke was gone and Sam was still there for her. He may not have the right to hold her in his arms, press kisses on her smooth skin and soft lips, or take her to his bed and never let her go, but he had her in his life. He was with her when it mattered, watching her back, making sure she made it home each night... well almost every night. He didn’t know if he would ever forgive himself for letting her go off alone to search for Ray Nixon’s storage locker. If she’d been hurt…. The dark chasm his life appeared as in that scenario didn’t bear thinking about._

_That was what came of hoping for more. For a minute he’d imagined that she was free of Luke, and finding out he was wrong had been a sucker punch to the soul that had destroyed his ability to think like a cop. Yet she forgave him. His remarkable Andy, his precious girl… but no, she wasn’t his… had never once blamed him, even when the blame was all his to bear; something that happened disconcertingly often around her. He had failed her so many times. He didn’t deserve her. He never would. That was the truth he should tell Oliver, but he wouldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he kept his mouth firmly shut and pretended to find the wood grain of his coffee table incredibly interesting._

_“Did I ever tell you about how I met Zoe?” Oliver asked when it was clear Sam wasn’t going to open up._

_Sam shook his head._

_“In my second year at Ryerson I took an anthropology course because I thought it would be an easy credit.” Oliver smiled, sinking into his memories. “She was the most beautiful student in the class and when she and I were paired together for the first major assignment I thought it was going to be great… that was before I figured out I was terrible at anthropology. Zoe tried to switch partners three times.”_

_“Can you blame her?” Sam teased._

_“No. I was terrible.” Oliver grinned. “Anyway, we survived the semester. At an end of term party I’d had way too much to drink and I saw her there with a group of friends. I thought I’d try and flirt my way back on to her good side.”_

_Sam snorted, earning a glare from Oliver._

_“What I didn’t know was that the six foot three hockey player a few feet away was her boyfriend, her jealous boyfriend.” Oliver looked abashed. “That was my first and only bar brawl. I got in one good hit and ended up with four stitches.”_

_The laugh Sam had been trying to hold in burst out. He’d met Oliver not long after Oliver and Zoe married, but it wasn’t hard to picture a slightly younger Shaw, too drunk to see straight, trying to fend off a man several inches taller than he._

_“Thanks,” Oliver said sarcastically, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement. “I didn’t ask her out that night, what with being an idiot and spending four hours in the ER, but two years later we ran into each other in Tim Hortons and this time I asked her out on the spot. Eight months later we were engaged.”_

_“Is_ that _where your luck went?”_

_Oliver rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. Do you know what she told me after we were engaged? She said if I’d asked her out that night in the bar instead of… never mind,” Oliver flushed, “She would have said yes.”_

_“Andy isn’t Zoe,” Sam said softly._

_“No, but if you don’t tell her how you feel you might miss out on two years, or five…” Oliver shrugged, “I just want to see you happy, brother.”_

_“It’s not that easy.”_

_“I didn’t say it was easy.” Oliver said, “If it was easy you would have done it already.”_

June 21, 2016

The drive was long and for the most part boring. They traded off every two hours so neither would get too tired. Gail convinced Dov to go through a drive through in Barrie and again in Sudbury to keep up their energy, but otherwise they pressed on, pushing the speed limit and cursing every red light. When they finally saw the wooden 'Welcome to Timmins' sign Gail could have hugged it in relief. They were almost there, and so far Dov's phone had remained silent. As far as Gail was concerned no news was good news.

Ten minutes later she pulled the car into a spot in front of Timmins and District Hospital and killed the engine. It was nearly ten but the summer sky still gave off plenty of light in blues and purples and deep pinks, remnants of the sun that had just slipped out of view.

Dov plunked several coins into the meter.

Gail stretched both arms above her head, trying to release the knot of tension at the base of her spine. Her body was not used to sitting for so many hours at one time, and it was letting her know in no uncertain terms that it wasn't a fan. She grabbed her jacket off the seat and slipped it on before locking and closing the door.

They didn't speak as they walked up the paved path and through the sliding doors. Gail stood back and let Dov talk to the pink-clad nurse behind the desk. In two minutes he beckoned her and led the way towards a pair of shining silver elevators.

The Intensive Care Unit was on the second floor. When they stepped off the elevator, Dov led the way straight to the nurses' station and Gail wondered absently if he'd done this before. She'd never spent much time in hospitals, but Dov seemed to know just where to go. A nurse with an unyielding expression told them to wait and gestured to a small room lined with ugly grey couches.

They sat there for fifteen minutes in total silence. Just as Gail was beginning to nod off, a woman in bright blue scrubs with curly blonde hair appeared at the doorway. "You two are here to see Chris Diaz?"

"Yes," Gail leapt to her feet.

The woman smiled sympathetically. "His fiancée said you would be coming, but Chris isn't really up for visitors. I'll let you in for a minute but _only_  a minute. Okay?" For all her friendly smiles, her tone told them that she was not a woman to be messed with.

Gail nodded. "Is he going to…" She choked on the words.

"He's stable for the moment," was all the nurse would say.

Gail followed her down the hall, she could feel Dov a half step behind her. They turned twice before being led through a pair of heavy double doors into the ICU. Chris was in a bed to their right. Surrounded by machines, with a tube down his throat and at least six different IV bags hanging from stands on one side of his bed.

"Can he hear us?" Dov asked, his voice was uncharacteristically husky.

"He's heavily sedated right now, but it can't hurt to tell him you love him." The nurse said. "I'll give you a minute and then you should go."

Dov took two steps before realizing Gail hadn't moved. "You coming?"

She shook her head. "I.. I can't."  She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. She couldn't bear to see Chris like this, his chest rising and falling in time with the ventilator. "You go."

Giving her a last penetrating stare, Dov turned and walked over to Chris's side. If he spoke it was too quietly for Gail to hear. When he turned to leave, his eyes were suspiciously wet.

The nurse who had let them in escorted them back to the elevator and then they were on their own. "We can come back tomorrow." Dov said.

Gail nodded, but didn't say anything. She felt drained. All she wanted in that moment was to curl up and go to sleep so she could wake up and realize this was all a bad dream.

They grabbed two sandwiches and a couple bottles of water from a vending machine and then piled into the car. Dov drove to the nearest hotel, paying attention only to the Vacancy sign.

"Two rooms?" The lady behind the desk looked pointedly at the single bag dangling from Dov's hand.

"Yes, que--"

"Do you have anything with two queens?" Gail interrupted.

Dov shot her a confused look.

"Look, you've slept on my couch a million times," she said in an undertone, "we're both exhausted and frankly I refuse to spend an extra 80$ just so I don't have to share a bathroom."

Dov's head nodded, from agreement or exhaustion she couldn't tell but she took it as a yes. "One room, two beds." she said to the clerk.

The woman smiled, her brown eyes twinkling. Clearly she thought they were together and hiding it badly. Gail wished she had her gun. That would wipe the smile away in two seconds flat. Sadly her gun was 700 kms away, locked in fifteen division's gun locker. She settled for a glare.

The woman quickly checked them into a single room with two queen beds and slid the key across the counter. Gail snapped it up and led Dov to the elevators. She was exhausted. Her back was still sore from the nine hour drive, and she felt jittery and punch drunk from the stress of the day.

It took three tries with the electronic key card to open the door. Almost before Dov had closed the door behind them she had collapsed on the nearest bed.

The mattress dipped as Dov sat next to her. "You should eat first." He said.

Gail groaned. She wanted nothing more than sleep, but the gnawing feeling in her stomach wasn't solely from worry. She forced herself to sit up and reach for the bag of sandwiches they'd picked up on their way to the hotel.

She passed one to Dov and then unwrapped the other. The roast beef tasted like ash in her mouth, but she forced it down and the rumbling in her stomach decreased.

"Visiting hours start at nine." Dov broke the silence.

Gail nodded, holding her hand out for the discarded wrapper from his sandwich. She tossed both wrappers and the plastic bag into the trash, kicked off her shoes and sank back down on the bed. "He's going to make it."

Dov nodded, "He has to."

Gail turned to look at him. Dov's face was set in grim determination, as if wanting Chris to survive badly enough would make it happen. She let her head fall against his shoulder. "He will."

Dov leaned his head against hers. It was comfortable, leaning against one another. The human contact lessened the ache of not knowing, and chased away the fears. Ten minutes later she was fast asleep.

December 25, 2009

_"Diaz, Epstein thank you for volunteering to work the second least popular shift of the year, you saved me from having to draw names out of a hat." Staff Sergeant Boyco smiled his grandfatherly smile at the rookies.  "Christmas day is always a strange one. I'm putting you two on a road block, think you can handle it?"_

_"Yes sir," they answered almost in tandem._

_Boyco gave them a penetrating stare, "Don't let me down now. We want to keep the roads safe, not fill our holding cells, got it?"_

_Again the response was a chorus of "Yes sir."_

_"Okay. Get out there, serve, protect and get some drunk drivers off our roads."_

_Half an hour later, they were set up on an empty street. It was always a little eerie on Christmas, in the morning when next to no one had to eat work and most people were still at home with their families, it was almost as if the entire city were still asleep, but soon people would be on the road, headed to the cabin, or to a family member's house for dinner, and afterwards when Dov and Chris's work would really begin, when no one wanted to wait an hour for a cab so more and more drivers who'd had 'just a few' would get behind the wheel and drive themselves and often their families home._

_While they waited for their first car, Dov leaned back against the squad. "My family is Jewish, what's your excuse?"_

_Chris shrugged, looking inexplicably uncomfortable. "I don't like to talk about it."_

_Dov gave him a strange look but left it. They were friends, but even friends had some secrets they didn't want to share. Dov was alright with that, he had secrets of his own he'd rather not talk about. The real reason he liked to pretend Christmas didn't exist among them._

_A couple of cars came by and for a few minutes they were busy, checking to make sure everyone was belted in and that there were no obvious open bottles or drunks. When the was another lull they stood again at the side of the squad. Chris clapped his hands together to generate warmth. The December air was cold and standing out in it for hours wasn't a great way to retain circulation to your extremities._

_"I haven't talked to my mother in two years." Chris said without preamble._

_Dov looked at him out of the corner of his eye, he could tell it was not a confession that had come easily. "My brother died," he said, giving a carefree shrug as if it hadn't destroyed his parents, or it didn't still keep him up at night._

_"I'm sorry. That must be hard." Chris said. His tone was genuinely sympathetic, as if he understood the level of loss Dov was talking about. Not like so many people who, through no real fault of their own, had no idea how to respond to such a loss. The awkward pauses and, empty platitudes about better places and the healing power of time were part of why Dov never wanted to tell anyone._

_"It was years ago," Dov said, as if years could possibly take away the pain of your seemingly happy brother taking his own life._

_"What happened?"_

_Dov usually hated that question, but somehow from Chris it didn't seem nosy. "He killed himself."_

_Chris made a noise of wordless sympathy. Any other response was cut off by the arrival of another line of traffic. When they got another break the conversation stayed on lighter topics, the Leafs' chance at making the playoffs, Dov's latest girlfriend, and Chris's ongoing battle with his neighbor over what was and was not an acceptable time to make ridiculous amounts of noise._

June 21, 2016

Andy ran the brush through her loose curling hair, smoothing the last few errant strands into place. Her phone vibrated twice and she abandoned her reflection and retrieved it from the bedside table. 'Gail?' she tapped the screen to open the message... And nearly dropped it.

Chris in accident. Dov & I @ hospital. He's unconscious. They're not sure if he'll make it. Will let you know more when we know. -G

Andy read the text three times. The news didn't get better with repetition. She sank onto the edge of her bed, feeling numb. Chris. She hadn't seen him since the funeral... She'd meant to visit, but somehow there was never time. And now he was in the hospital and they didn't know if he was going to make it. A tear landed on the back of her hand and she realized she was crying.

She didn't even hear Sam knock until he opened her door and called through, "Andy?" He knocked at her open door.

Andy swiped her cheeks with both hands and stood. "Come on in," she said in a choked voice. She heard the door click closed and forced her feet to move, hoping her face didn't show the tumultuous mess of her emotions.

Sam's eyes took in her face, warm eyes filling with concern. "Andy?" he half reached for her and then stopped himself. "What happened?"

Andy took a deep shuddering breath. "Chris Diaz..." she swallowed a sudden lump, "was in an accident, they don't know if he's going to make it."

This time, Sam didn't hesitate. In two steps his arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest. Her head fit perfectly beneath his chin. He breathed in the scent of her hair, rubbing one hand over her back in as comforting a manner as possible. He wasn't good at this stuff, but it was Andy. He may not like to admit it, even to himself, but he would do anything for her.

Andy leaned into his chest, breathing in his scent, letting herself feel the fear and sorrow.

After several minutes, Andy pulled away. She forced a smile. "Thanks," she said, flushing when she saw the damp patch on the front of his shirt caused by her tears.

Sam pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Do you want me to go?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "No, stay."

He smiled, "Pizza or Chinese?"

"Definitely Chinese."

Sam ordered and then settled beside Andy on her couch. They didn't talk about anything important. Somehow Sam didn't think it mattered, not then. They would talk; if they wanted this to work they would have to talk at some point. For now, he was happy to sit beside her, shoulders almost touching, her fingers entwined with his.

When they were finished eating Sam rose to leave, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yep," Andy's reply was unconvincing. "Fine."

Sam caught her gaze and held it. "Andy, did you want me to stay? I'll sleep on the couch. I just don't want you to be alone if..." She stiffened and he let the sentence trail off.

Andy sucked her lower lip into her mouth, worrying it with her teeth. "You don't have to sleep on the couch," she said, giving him a grateful half smile. "I have a king sized bed." Not waiting to see what he said, Andy took Sam's hand and led him to her bedroom.

She didn't bother undressing, just climbed under the covers, pulling him with her.

Sam stretched out beside her. When she turned her back, half curled on her side, his arm pinned beneath her, fingers still entwined, he rolled onto his side and pulled her against his chest. In a matter of minutes her breathing evened out and she was asleep.


	8. chapter seven

June 22, 2016

There was a warm arm around her waist, a body pressed against her back. Andy snuggled closer. It was a familiar dream. She'd had it countless times in the last five years, only to wake to a bed filled with only pillows and blankets. She turned slowly. Dream-Sam made a muffled noise of protest, burying his nose in her hair. Andy turned her head and brushed a feather light kiss against his lips. Her chest pressed against his. She trailed her lips from his mouth down his stubble covered jaw.

Sam's left hand crept up under her shirt, his calloused fingers tracing lightly over her sleep warmed skin.  His other hand twined through her hair, pulling her face back up so he could capture her lips with his own.

Andy pushed against his chest, rolling him onto his back so she lay half on top of him. She framed his face with her hands, angling it so she could deepen the kiss.

Sam broke the kiss. "Andy?" his voice was rough.

Andy's eyes fluttered open. She met Sam's gaze, breathing hard, half expecting him to evaporate. He didn't. It took only a few moments for her to recall the night before. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She'd cried all over him and then dragged him to bed and now she'd more or less molested him in his sleep. She wished the bed would open up and swallow her whole. "I'm sorry," she muttered, sitting up, turning away from him.

Sam stared at her back, frustration building. They needed to talk. He needed her to stop kissing him and running away. "Andy..."

She turned back, eyes guarded.

He flashed her a smile. "Best sleep I've had in years," he quipped.

Her mouth curled into a reluctant smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam brushed his hand against her cheek.

Her eyes warmed and she leaned towards him.

Their lips met. It was a brief kiss, warm and full of promise, but short lived. Andy's alarm blared, warning her they had about thirty minutes to shower and head to the station. Reluctantly she pulled away and got to her feet. "Breakfast?"

"Sure," he straightened his t-shirt and ran a hand through his rumpled hair, smoothing it into something resembling its usual style.  "You have eggs?"

Andy gestured towards the kitchen, "Bottom shelf, help yourself." She grabbed the first clean clothes her hands hit and disappeared into the bathroom.

Sam heard the shower running as he opened the fridge and examined the contents. Fifteen minutes later Andy emerged from the shower dressed in a clean blue shirt and jeans, twisting her still wet hair into a French braid. Sam handed her a plate with a cheese omelette and a cup of coffee.

Andy kissed him softly on the lips. "When did you learn to cook?" she teased, leaning against the kitchen counter and setting the coffee beside her so she could devote her full attention to the omelette.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Says the woman who would live on salad in a bag if she could."

She grinned.

Neither of them were terrific cooks, but Sam would be willing to bet he cooked more often than she did. He'd never met someone so content to eat whatever raw food she could pull out of the fridge and put on a plate. Women he'd dated in the past always seemed to be expecting steak or lobster or something else ridiculously decadent, Andy had once eaten an entire bag of sugar peas out of his fridge and called it dinner.

Sam drove them both to the station. The drive was oddly silent. Andy hadn't heard anything more on Chris's condition and the air between them was heavy with things unspoken. He pulled into an empty parking spot and killed the engine.

They walked side by side until they reached the front entrance. "Dinner after shift?" Sam asked, keeping his tone casual, as if his heart wasn't thudding in his chest, waiting for her answer.

She nodded her assent.

"We can have that talk," he said softly, brushing his arm deliberately against hers before stepping forward and opening the door.

Andy stared after him for a second, she was still having a little trouble believing he was _here_. That morning felt like it could have been pulled straight from the life she’d wanted five years earlier, only the worry about Chris dimmed the pleasure she’d felt when Sam’s skin brushed against hers. It felt so _right,_ so _normal_ to wake up beside him, even with the embarrassment of thinking he was a figment of her imagination and practically mounting him while he was asleep. She shook herself back to the present and followed him into the station.

Jo was waiting for Sam in the interrogation room. "Have a good night?" She asked, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Sam shrugged and mumbled something non-committal. He was in a great mood, the last thing he needed was another fight with Jo about Andy.

"Frank wants to see you." She said, opening a file.

He slung his coat over the back of a chair and rose. "Did he say what it was about?"

She shook her head and then added, with a significant look at the rumpled shirt he'd been wearing the day before. "You might want to change first."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he ducked into the men's locker room and pulled a fresh shirt out of his temporary locker before making his way to the Staff Sergeant's office. He wasn't ashamed of what had happened with McNally, but the last thing he needed was Frank worrying about 'conduct unbecoming' just when he was starting to get her back.

Rationally he knew none of what happened five years ago was Frank's fault, but love wasn't rational.

March 3, 2011

_"I talked to Frank."_

_"So did I. He said…" Andy sucked her lower lip into her mouth, looking at Sam with guilt filled eyes. She couldn't bear to say it out loud. Frank was sympathetic, but he was also clear as day. His hands were tied. If she and Sam didn't stop seeing each other, there would be no job to come back to after her suspension. The thought had made her want to be sick. There were so many if-only’s. So many moments she could have made the right call and saved them both all of this pain.  If she'd listened to Tracy… if she'd taken the cab… if she'd said no… if she'd gone home that night… if…  She closed her eyes, unable to look at him. "Sam, I- I can't lose this job."_

_Sam  took her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him. There was steel behind his voice. "You won't."_

_She stared at him in growing horror as she realized what that could mean. "What are you going to do, quit?" The idea was almost too horrible to say out loud, but she had to know. She waited, barely breathing for his answer._

_Sam was quiet for several seconds. His face serious as he pondered her question. He'd wanted to be a cop since he was nine years old. It had been the only thing he really wanted for so long. But for the last two years, all he'd wanted was Andy. Forced to choose between the two, he wasn't sure the job would win. "I don't know," he said at last. He'd been willing to make them fire him, but quitting was something altogether different._

_"No." Andy shook her head. "I won't let you give up your career. I can't. You're a cop Sam, it's who you are. You can't give that up for me."_

_"Then what?" Sam asked, searching her eyes, not dropping his hands. If there was a chance of having it all he would grab it with both hands, but in the moment he didn't see another option. If they stayed at fifteen they wouldn't be allowed to be together, if he left he would have to find a new job to love, but he would have her. That life didn't sound so bad._

_"I think we should end this." She stepped back, breaking contact. She couldn't meet his eyes._

_"Andy..." His voice was pained. He reached and took one of her hands in his. Stopping her retreat._ I love you. _The words stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. Instead he pressed her hand to his lips, willing her to know what he couldn't say._

_"We haven't even been on a real date," she said, pulling her hand away. "I can't give up the only career I ever wanted when we don't even know if we work in the real world."_

_Sam wanted to protest, to tell her that they would be fine no matter what their jobs were, that they weren't just perfect partners on the job, they were perfect partners for any job, even the mundane tasks of 'normal life,' but he couldn't find the words. Instead he watched as she composed her features into a resolved expression, and rose to her feet._

_"I'm sorry Sam," she said softly. "I wish we had more time, but..." She shrugged, her eyes were suspiciously bright. "It's better this way. Goodbye."_

_She turned and walked out of his kitchen, his apartment, his life._

_Sam grit his teeth and sucked a deep breath in through his nose. Anger, at her, but even more so against himself, made his chest tight. He clenched and unclenched his hands. It wasn’t helping. He picked up an empty glass off the table and threw it at the wall. It shattered with a resounding crash._

_He didn't feel better._

June 22, 2016

The too-cheerful ring of Dov's phone penetrated Gail's dreams like an eighteen gauge needle. She sat up, rubbing her aching neck.

Dov stirred beside her, fumbling for the phone in his pocket without actually getting up. He found it on the fourth ring and tapped answer. "Epstein." His voice was gravelly from sleep and he cleared his throat before speaking again. "Denise?"

Gail paused mid movement, ears straining to hear the other side of the conversation. If only her heart would stop pounding, maybe she could make out more than a general murmur.

"Okay. Thank you. We'll be there..." Dov was on his feet in a moment. He turned his head to look at her for a moment, 'fifteen minutes?' he mouthed to Gail.

She shook her head and held up one hand with all five fingers.

"…As soon as we can check out," he finished. "See you soon." He hung up the phone and looked at Gail again. Her face was pale, even for Gail, and her eyes wide with anxiety. Dov smiled broadly. "He's awake."

Without even thinking, Gail took two steps and threw her arms around his neck. Dov returned the embrace, squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe but she didn't care. All the worst case scenarios that had been swirling through her mind for the last eighteen hours vanished, replaced by a euphoric relief.

She pressed her lips against his neck, tasting the salty warmth of Dov's skin. Dov turned his head, capturing her lips. His hands tangled in her hair, holding her close as his tongue parted her lips. She moaned against him, her tongue battling with his for dominance. Her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, sliding up under his shirt, pushing up at the fabric.

As suddenly as it had started they stopped. Gail took two steps back, panting. Her eyes were like saucers, the pupils so dilated that the blue of her irises was barely visible. Her lips were slightly swollen.

Dov closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to regain control. She looked so beautiful, it took every ounce of his strength not to pull her back into his arms, to throw her down on the bed and release the tension rippling through his body in mind blowing bliss.

"W-we should go," Gail stammered.

Dov nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He slid his feet into his shoes, not bothering to tie them and picked up his coat off the bed.

It didn't take long to check out and in less than ten minutes they were pulling into the hospital parking lot. Gail slid her hand into his as they walked up the paved path.

He squeezed it in a way he hoped was reassuring. He had never quite understood the relationship between Chris and Gail, but one thing was clear: she still cared about him. Her teeth worried at her lower lip as they waited for the elevator and he had to restrain himself from kissing away the anxiety etched all over her face.

The second floor nurses' station was deserted so they made their way directly to the heavy double doors they'd gone through the night before. There was a phone on the wall by the doors and Dov picked it up.

Gail stood so close their entire arms were touching as he gave their names and who they were visiting to the nurse on the other end. In a moment there was a beep and the doors swung open. Flashing a weak smile at Dov, Gail led the way into the unit. 

Denise was standing beside Chris' bed, his hand held in hers. Her brown hair was in tangles and when she turned to greet them there were dark circles under her eyes. Gail wondered if she had slept at all.

Chris' lips curled into a small smile, which turned quickly into a grimace of pain, when he saw them. "You didn't have to come," he said in a scratchy voice.

Gail wanted to hit him. She settled for a glare. "Of course we did."

"You're going to have to work harder than this to get rid of us," Dov added. He was grinning, but the smile didn't quite make it to his eyes.

"Next time you want us to visit, you could just call."  Gail kept her voice light, taking the empty chair on the other side of Chris' bed. She placed one hand over Chris' where it lay on the crisp white sheet.

"Please!" Denise seconded. "I promise I won't even get mad about the long distance charges."

Chris's eyes locked onto his fiancée. The love in them brought a flush to Gail's face. She felt like she was intruding on something intimate. She looked over at Dov and found his eyes on her, full of warmth and a question she wasn't sure she could answer. She dropped her gaze to the floor.

They stayed for only a few more minutes. Chris' eyelids were drooping and they had a long drive home. They said their goodbyes, both squeezing Chris' hand and embracing Denise before showing themselves out. Denise would keep them updated. For now, they were needed in Toronto. Frank had given them the days off with little protest, but now that Chris was out of the woods, it was time to return to reality.

September 15, 2011

_"No!" Dov threw his head back in frustration._

_Gail grinned. "Best of seven?" she asked, eyes twinkling with merriment._

_Dov glared at her, but he picked up the controller he'd tossed half-heartedly at the TV when she'd won the third straight race.  "You're going down Peck," he said in a macho tone that might have been more impressive if she weren't beating him so very badly._

_They'd gotten into something of a pattern after the first time she beat him at Death Domain. Now, whenever Chris wasn't home Dov would pull out the controllers and challenge her to a rematch. So far she was up 9-3 overall. She had a feeling the challenges would continue until he could claim victory. She didn't really mind. It beat the hell out of cleaning, or sitting on the couch twiddling her thumbs, waiting for Chris to come home so she didn't feel quite so much like an unwanted guest._

_Seconds after she pressed start the doorbell rang. Gail paused the game and rose to her feet in a single smooth motion. "You expecting anyone?" she asked. She'd given up keeping track of Dov's short term flings. She wondered at times if he even knew what the word 'relationship' meant._

_"No," he said, not moving from his spot on the couch, or letting go of the controller._

_Gail smirked, like that would help. She'd never had the heart to admit that she'd grown up playing Nintendo with her older brother and all of his friends. Poor raised-by-hippies-Dov didn't stand a chance._

_She opened the door and smiled blandly at the stranger standing on their front porch. The woman was alone and the timid look on her sun leathered face didn't match that of a door to door sales person or a JW. "Can I help you?"_

_The woman twisted her hands together. Gail noticed a band of paler skin where a wedding ring had once lived. "Does Chris Diaz live here?" she asked in the slightly husky voice that came from decades of smoking a pack a day._

_Gail hesitated. The woman looked basically harmless. But looks weren't anything.  "Who did you say you were?" she asked, the manners her mother had instilled in her making her choose false obliviousness over a potentially rude 'who are you?'_

_"Oh I'm sorry dear."_

_Gail cringed at the endearment._

_"Tina Diaz, I'm his mother."_

_The words didn't sink in right away, and even when they did, Gail's brain was slow to process. Chris's mother? Of course she knew he had a mother, everyone had one, but the way he'd reacted to his mother's ex-boyfriend the day of the arson case, and his refusal to talk about his family since, had almost made her forget that his mother was still alive. She had certainly never expected the woman to appear unannounced at their apartment. "Chris isn't home," she said in a polite voice she almost didn't recognize, "would you like to come in and wait?"_

_The woman smiled, showing a row of perfectly straight white teeth. "Thank you..." she trailed off, looking at Gail pointedly._

_"Gail," she supplied, stepping back to let Chris's mother enter._

_Dov looked up when they entered the room, his brow creased in confusion._

_"Dov, this is Tina Diaz, Chris's mother," Gail said in a strained voice, giving him a look that screamed 'What was I supposed to do?'_

_Dov set aside the controller and rose to his feet, wiping his hands against his jeans before holding one out to the woman. "Dov Epstein, pleasure to meet you."_

_"Can I get you a drink?" Gail asked, shooting Dov a helpless look._ __

_"Tea would be lovely." Tina perched primly on the edge of the sofa, her back ramrod straight._ __

_"Sure. Dov, can you come get the kettle down?"_ __

_Dov opened his mouth to point out that the kettle was on their kitchen counter like it always was but shut it quickly. "Make yourself at home," he said stiffly, rising to join Gail in the kitchen._ __

_"What the hell do we do?" she hissed the second they were out of earshot. She was pale and her eyes appeared twice their usual size._ __

_Dov raised both eyebrows. "Make her some tea?"_ __

_Gail gave him a look the by all rights should have reduced him to a pile of smoldering ash. "Should I call Chris? This is weird right? They don't even talk."_ __

_Dov busied himself filling the kettle with water. "They're going to have to now."_ __

_"Helpful," Gail snapped sarcastically. "I'm going to call him, go keep her company or something."_ __

_"Gee, thanks." Dov muttered, but he did as she asked, he knew well enough to know no good came from crossing Gail when she got like this._ __

_Gail pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Chris's number from memory. She leaned back against the counter as it rang. After four rings Chris's familiar voice came over the line "You've reached Chris Diaz, leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."_ __

_Gail sighed, "It's Gail, call me when you get this."_ _She snapped her phone shut and returned it to her pocket._ _Before she was really ready, the kettle boiled with a shrill whistle. She threw a two year old bag of Tetley into a brown ceramic mug and filled it with water. Grabbing the coffee creamer and box of sugar cube off the counter she rejoined Dov in the living room._ __

_Her head was reeling. Chris never talked about his family. The most she’d ever heard about his mother had come from the ex-boyfriend they'd interviewed a couple months ago, and it hadn't exactly been a ringing endorsement. She tried to picture the smiling, slightly awkward woman adding the sixth sugar cube to her tea as the same woman who punished her son for dropping a box of spaghetti, and failed. She seemed so... harmless._ __

_Then again, Gail knew too well how deceptive a parent's first impression could be. Compared to the childhood she'd been picturing Chris enduring, her own childhood had been idyllic, but even if Elaine had never made her daughter stand on a chair for hours or screamed at her until she cried, there were hurts Gail would never be able to forget._ __

_"Do you work with Chris?" Tina asked, cradling the mug between her hands._ __

_"Yes, we trained together." Dov answered. Gail shot him a grateful look. She couldn't seem to form a coherent thought, let alone voice it._ __

_"And you like it?"_ __

_"It's the only job I ever wanted," Dov's voice dripped with enthusiasm, like it always did when talked about the job. Usually it made Gail want to poke fun at him, but today she as just thankful Tina had hit on a topic he could wax poetic about for hours._ __

_He was in the middle of his third effusive story about how fucking great it was to serve and protect, when Tina interrupted him. Her brown eyes, so much like her son's fixed on Gail, "Your parents must worry, pretty thing like you on the street chasing down criminals."_ __

_Gail grit her teeth, she'd heard the same line a dozen times: beautiful girl like you shouldn't waste your talents as a cop. Usually it was followed up by a lame joke about the "family business" or how it was a "great way to land a sexy husband" as if no one could imagine why a girl who could get by on her looks would choose to do anything else. Before she could find the words to respond Dov jumped in._ __

_"Gail's one of the best cops in our division. She was top of the class at the academy, and her parents are both police so they couldn't be more proud."_ __

_A brief flash of the last family dinner flashed through Gail's mind, her mother's ten minute lecture on how "you can't just expect to get by on the name, you need to prove it to Frank that you deserve to be there" and "do you really think Charles is an appropriate boyfriend for a Peck?"_ _Not exactly the words of the proud parents Dov described, but she wasn't going to correct him._ __

_Her phone buzzed and with a quick apology, Gail slipped far enough down the hall that they wouldn't be able to overhear her conversation. "Hi."_ __

_"Everything alright?" Chris was in full supportive boyfriend mode._ __

_Gail took a few more steps away from the living room foist to be safe and said softly, "Your mother is here."_ __

_"She-- here? in the apartment?" Chris stammered._ __

_"She just showed up, I didn't know what else to do," Gail felt suddenly defensive. "Are you coming home soon?"_ __

_Chris was silent for a long time. "Yeah," he said at last, "I'll be there in five."_ __

_"Are you okay?"_

_"Yeah." Chris sounded anything but okay, "Just surprised. I haven't talked to my mother in years."_ __

_"Want me to get rid of her?" Gail offered. "I'm pretty good at sending people running for the hills."_ __

_Chris chuckled, "No, I'll see you soon."_ __

_"Okay." Gail waited until he hung up before snapping her phone shut. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. Five minutes, she could be polite for five more minutes._

June 22, 2016

"Sam! Thanks for coming, have a seat." 

Frank's voice was warm and Sam felt some of the tension ease from his spine. This wasn't about McNally then. He settled into the chair across from Frank's desk, "You wanted to see me?" 

"Drug squad is taking another run at Anton Hill, they're looking for a few more people, you interested?" 

Sam's heart thumped heavily in his chest. Anton Hill. His white whale. He smiled inwardly, Andy hadn't been all that wrong when she had dubbed him that all those years ago. Scum bag extraordinaire. Sam's only regret from day he met Andy was that he hadn't managed to gather enough evidence to put Anton behind bars before that day. But Anton knew he was a cop, he'd never thought he would have another go at that case.

As if reading Sam's mind, Frank continued. "You'd be on the task force, working out of Fifth. It's not UC, but you would be working directly with their guy under cover." 

"When?" 

Frank's grin grew. "Next week. Give you enough time to pass your current cases on to Callaghan and find a house sitter." 

Sam's heart dropped, "House sitter?" 

Frank gave him a look that suggested he was being an idiot, "You know how they are about these task forces. No contact with your old division, one hundred percent on the job, twenty-four seven. The superintendent wants Hill badly, they're throwing a lot of money at this and they aren't willing to risk any screw ups." 

"Well?" Frank looked at him expectantly. "Should I call Callaghan, get him in here so you can get him up to speed? You should talk to Oliver about your townhouse, his oldest is saving up for a car and would jump at the chance to water your plants for a few bucks." 

For a moment Sam was lost in the fantasy of bringing down Anton Hill once and for all, but when he opened his mouth to say 'yes' nothing came out. He wanted Anton Hill behind bars, but for the first time in years he felt like he had something to lose. He closed his eyes for a moment, an image of Andy rising to the surface of his mind. He could feel her lips against his throat, feel her slim hands sliding up his back. Her warm brown eyes brimming with tears. His heart twisted and he knew he couldn't leave her. Not again. 

"I can't." He barely believed the words that were coming out of his mouth. 

Frank stared at him. "Is this because of Callaghan? Because you can give the case to Rosati if you want. The superintendent specifically requested that you join to case. It's your chance to erase what happened five years ago. I thought you would be thrilled." 

Sam studied the floor, weighing his choices. It was an amazing opportunity. Two weeks ago he would have jumped on it. It was the kind of second chance that happened once in a life time. But there were other second chances that were equally rare, and even more precious. "I'm sorry." He said. "I wish I could, but it's just... Not the right time." 

Frank gave him an appraising look. "Think about it. We'll talk again in a couple days." 

"Okay," Sam agreed even though he knew a few days wasn't going to change the way he felt. He didn't know what was going to happen between he and McNally. Maybe nothing... But he needed to give them a chance. It was the only way he was ever going to move on. And who knew, maybe he would get everything he'd ever wanted.

He walked through the station, back to his office, in a haze of conflicting thoughts. 

Jo was sitting at the table, a folder open in front of her, pen in hand. She looked up when he entered. "Well? Do I need to make a copy of my notes for Callaghan?  Or are you going to trust me with this one?" 

It took Sam a moment to follow her train of thought. She knew. He felt suddenly, unaccountably awkward, like a kid caught stealing cookies right before dinner. "I'm not taking it."

Jo stared at him in total silence, her face saying everything she couldn't find the words for. 

Sam took a seat opposite her, "Leave it." he said flipping open a folder and picking up his notepad. 

Jo glared at him for a moment more and then turned her eyes back to the form she was  filling in, but her mind wasn't on it. There was something more pressing that needed to be solved. 

February 19, 2011

_Sam collapsed on the queen sized bed that was the most comfortable piece of furniture in his department-issue apartment. His back ached and his head felt like someone had screwed a metal band around his temples and was slowly tightening it. Another twelve hour day at the warehouse and he still had nothing. If Brennan was still in the life, he wasn't running his operation out of the warehouse._ __

_As had become habit over the last week, Sam's mind slipped back to The Night. He still had trouble believing it hadn't been a trick of his overtired brain. But it hadn't been, he still had her hair clip to prove it. He looked over at his counter, where he'd placed it carelessly the morning after, and been unable to move it from ever since. It was silly and sentimental and he would have been embarrassed If there had been anyone around to be embarrassed in front of, but UC was a lonely life. The only other person who had set foot in his place was Brennan, and he hadn't been concerned with a hair clip._ __

Damn Brennan! _Sam's hands clenched unconsciously into fists at his side. He'd never wanted a_ _case to be over so badly in his entire life. They'd said never again, and it was right. The first time shouldn't have happened, doing it again would be like taking an EdgeWalk on the CN Tower during a thunderstorm - exhilarating, but fucking dangerous._ __

_Still, it couldn't hurt to talk to her. Right?_ __

_Sam was on his feet, heading or the surveillance controls before he had a chance to come to his senses. He flipped off the audio equipment and the cameras and pulled put the cellphone Boyd had given him, Adding a *87 for good measure, he dialed Andy's number from memory._ __

_“Hello?” Her voice was barely discernible over the din in the background._

_“Andy, it’s Sam.”_

_“What?” She half shouted into the phone. He could make out music in the background and what sounded like a dozen people shouting at once._

_“Andy?”_

_“I can’t hear you.” The background noise receded a little, Sam assumed she was moving away from the source.  “Sam?” She asked when she was in a place quiet enough to hear._

_“Yeah,” Sam replied, suddenly at a loss for what to say. He didn’t just want to hear her voice, he needed to see her. It was like a physical ache. “Where are you?”_

_“The Penny.”_

_“Can you get away?” He asked before he could think._

_“I’m leaving now.”_

_He hung up and scanned his apartment quickly. There was a pile of clean clothes he'd never gotten around to folding on one of the chairs, he shoved it in a drawer. He caught his reflection in the mirror, there was a reckless glint in his eye and a guilty flush in his cheeks. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, he knew this was a terrible idea._ _He should call her and tell her not to come, but his fingers won't cooperate._ __

June 22, 2016

"Lunchtime," Jo's voice made Andy jump. 

"What?" 

"I owe you lunch. Come on, my treat. I promise I won't run off and leave you with the bill this time." Jo flashed a self-deprecating smile. 

Andy wanted to say no, she really did, but even though Sam had told her he and Jo were long over there was a voice in her head that told her she needed to see that for herself. Wishing even as she opened her mouth that she could say something different, she forced a smile. "Sure, thanks." 

Jo drove them to a nearby Thai restaurant, waiting only until they had found a table for two by the window to let the question that had been burning at the tip of her tongue since Sam had come back from his meeting with Frank.  "What are you doing, McNally?"

"Excuse me?" Andy who had been quietly studying the menu recoiled as if she'd been struck. 

"What are you doing to Sam?" Jo tried to keep her voice friendly, but she couldn't help the bite of frost that crept in. She knew it was partly her fault, she'd meddled and now Sam was giving up a great opportunity for a chance with Andy McNally, she couldn't understand it. Sure McNally was pretty and she was somehow perfect for Sam, but if they were meant to be together they would still be meant to be together in three months, wouldn't they? She'd though she was helping, whether she'd hoped they would live happily ever after or that Sam would realize it wasn't really what he wanted and move on to someone less volatile, she didn't know. but of one thing she was absolutely certain: she hadn't expected to have a hand in destroying his career. 

Andy crossed her arms across her chest and glared at Jo, looking every inch like a wrongly accused suspect in an interrogation. "What are you talking about?" 

She didn't know. Jo had the grace to feel slightly ashamed. Of course Andy didn't know. This was Sam. The king of the monosyllable. It would have been more surprising if he _had_ told Andy about the offer. "I'm sorry," the words did not come easily. "I assumed you knew." 

Now Andy looked worried rather than pissed off. "Knew what?" 

Jo opened her mouth to explain but their waiter appeared with two glasses of water. When they'd ordered, Jo started from the beginning, "Frank offered Sam a spot on the task force out of fifth going after Anton Hill. He'd have to go off the grid for a couple months minimum. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, and Sam said no." 

Andy looked thoughtful for a moment. "And you think he said no because of me?" 

It wasn't really a question, but Jo nodded anyway. "Why else?" 

"What about the case he's working?" Even as she said it Andy knew that wasn't the reason. that case was a nightmare. There were no witnesses willing to talk, there were a few finger prints, but nothing in the system, the victims were gang members, but no one in the gang world was talking... It was definitely not the kind of case you fought to keep, even if you were as stubborn as Sam Swarek. 

June 23, 2016

"God it feels good to be home." Gail sighed, collapsing onto her couch in a boneless pile. She'd taken the last driving shift, pushing the speed limit for four hours straight, desperate to be home. It was almost one in the morning and her eyes felt like they were full of sand.

Dov sank down beside her, plunking the bag of tacos they'd picked up at the taco time three blocks from her apartment down on the cushion between them. "Eat," he said in a no nonsense voice, “then sleep.” 

"Ugh," Gail groaned in protest, even as she reached into the bag and pulled out a  beef burrito. Logically, she knew the nauseous churning of her stomach was because of the long day of nothing but coffee and Timbits, but the acidic wasteland in her stomach did not make the idea of eating appealing. 

They sat in exhausted silence, munching listlessly on their lukewarm tacos. Without a word exchanged, Gail knew Dov would crash on her couch that night. Neither one of them wanted to be alone. 

The phone call came as Gail was pulling out her spare quilt and pillows, the ones she kept in the hall closet specifically for the nights Dov stayed over. She didn't think much of it, they'd been gone for two days, it was natural that people would be checking in. She'd been expecting a call from Frank all day. 

She couldn't make out the words, just the familiar cadence of Dov's voice. It was strangely comforting. She'd been living on her own for four years, she should be used to the silence of an empty apartment, but she had never really adjusted. It always felt so much more natural to have another person there, another voice to break up the stillness. Arms filled with bedding, Gail stepped into the living room, and came to a dead stop. 

Dov's face was white. He met her eyes, she could see tears brimming in the blue depths, and shook his head once. The world collapsed.

Gail sank to the ground, arms still wrapped tightly around the quilt and pillows, holding them to her chest like a life preserver. "No," she said to no one in particular. "He was better! We saw him. They said he was going to make it."

Dov set down the phone and stood on legs that didn't quite feel real. His whole body was numb. He didn't even realize he was crying until he had to blink away the film of water blurring his vision. He half walked, half stumbled across the room and sank to the floor next to Gail, without saying a word he pulled her against his chest. 

They sat like that for an hour, neither making a sound. He cried, she didn't. 

At some point Gail slipped a hand under his shirt, running her fingers over the warm skin of his back. He dropped his head and pressed an open mouthed kiss against her neck. 

30 Minutes Later

"We should call Andy," Gail said, sitting up, wrapping the quilt around her naked body. 

"In the morning," Dov said tucking a strand of hair behind one of her ears. "We'll call her in the morning." 

Gail nodded. She felt drained, down to her very soul. Weary, like she would never have energy again. 

Dov rose to his feet, found his boxers and slipped them on before holding out a hand. "Come on." 

She let him pull her to her feet and lead the way to her bedroom. 

"Chris is dead," she said as she pulled her duvet over them both, the reality of their loss sinking in for the first time. 

"Yeah." Dov pulled her against him. 

A tear trickled from the corner of her eye, splashing against his bare chest. Another followed, and another…

August 2, 2015

_Chris barely waited for the engine to still before leaping from his car and jogging up to the darkened front of Dov’s building. He’d driven twenty over the limit the entire way, stopping only for gas and once to grab a triple-triple and a long john at Tim Hortons. The sugar and caffeine did nothing to slow his racing heart, but at least they helped keep his eyes open._

_For a moment Chris sat behind the wheel, mentally preparing himself for what he would find inside. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent Gail a quick text._

_She responded immediately._ Thank you, Chris. I’m off at six. Let me know if you need ANYTHING.

_Chris tucked his phone in his pocket and locked the car._

_He rang the doorbell and stood just far enough back he could see through the frosted window beside the front door of Dov’s duplex. He could see a single light on at the end of a long, dark hallway. He rang the bell again._

_“Dov!” he called, leaning his head close to the door in a vain attempt to keep from disturbing the neighbours. “Open the door.”_

_A minute passed. Still there was no movement inside the duplex. Chris swore under his breath and began searching the usual places for a spare key. If all else failed he was wholly ready to pick the lock, but he would rather not. He found the spare key tucked under a flower pot that had seen better days, the brownish leaves of a plant Chris couldn’t have named if he’d wanted to were curled in on themselves as if they were hunkering down for an assault._

_He slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened silently, about three inches, and then refused to move further. Chris swore more loudly. “Dov!” He called through the opening. “Let me in or I’m coming in.”_

_There was a crash of something hitting the floor, and Chris stepped back arms crossing across his chest as he waited for Dov to open the door. Another minute passed and Dov did not appear. With a heavy sigh, Chris kicked Dov’s door twice, snapping the chain and sending the door slamming into the wall._

_Chris_ _closed the door behind him, flipping the dead bolt closed. He eyed the spot on the wall where the chain had ripped free with a twinge of guilt. "Dov?" He scanned the living room, taking in at least a dozen empty beer bottles, laying haphazardly, as if they'd been tossed aside the moment they were drained._ __

_He almost didn't see Dov as he picked his way across the room. Dov sat on the floor, still in his uniform, his knees pulled up to his chest, head pillowed on them._ __

_Chris pushed a few side with his foot and sat down next to Dov. Settling himself so close that his shoulder brushed Dov's. "Dov, I'm so sorry." His voice was rough. His eyes burned but he blinked the gathering tears away. He needed to be strong for Dov. He could smell the beer on Dov's breath, but it didn't cover_ _the other, more distressing, odors: blood and ash._

_“Dude, you stink,” Chris said, forcing a light tone he didn’t feel. He nudged Dov’s shoulder, trying to get a reaction of any kind. Even a punch in the face would be preferable to the stifling silence that overwhelmed the apartment._

_Dov raised his head, his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused._

_“Seriously man,” Chris continued in the same jovial tone, “when was the last time you showered?”_

_There was a flicker of something in Dov’s eyes, but it faded as suddenly as it had appeared._

_Chris resisted the urge to shake him. Dov had gone through something no one should ever experience. He’d seen his own wife killed. Worse than that, he’d been working the scene, been closest to the door… first in the room. The thought brought a surge of bile up Chris’ throat. It was too horrible to contemplate. Half of his mind wanted to just stay there on the floor at Dov’s side and share his beer and his misery, but he knew he couldn’t. Not only would Gail kick his ass, but Dov deserved a friend who would help him get through this impossible time._

_“Come on,” He slid one arm around Dov’s back and the other under the arm closest to him and lifted. It took most of his strength, but he managed to haul Dov to his feet. He half led, half carried him to the bathroom and turned on the tap. He let the water run over his hand until it was warm, and made sure it wasn’t too warm before shoving a fully clothed Dov under the stream of water._

_It took almost a minute, but the glassy haze disappeared from Dov’s eyes. He looked quite cheesed off actually. Chris closed the glass door to the shower before Dov could say a word. “Wash up and get dressed, I’m going to make you something to eat.”_

_He closed the bathroom door behind him, but hovered in the hallway until he heard the telltale sound of a shampoo bottle being placed back on the shelf. Only then, when he was convinced Dov was alright for the moment, did he make his way to the living room and begin cleaning Dov’s mess._

_He couldn’t erase Dov’s pain any more than he could bring Sue back from the dead, but he could clean up the duplex and make Dov his favourite snack. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do, and he clung to the hope that it would be enough._

June 23, 2016

"Andy?" Sam's voice was far away, like it was coming to her through a long tunnel.

She opened her mouth but shock and grief had stolen her voice. She clamped her mouth shut and focused on keeping her lips from trembling, sucking in deep breaths through her nose. Her phone slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a muted thud. Gail’s words echoed in her head, sounding less real with each repetition. _Chris didn’t make it._

“Andy,” Sam brushed her hair back over her shoulder and scanned her face anxiously. “Is it Chris?”

Andy nodded, a tear spilling down her cheek. She swiped it away angrily. No. She wasn’t going to do this right now. She stood and reached for her discarded jeans. “I have to go, I’m going to be late.”

Sam grabbed her arm, stilling her movement. "Stay. I'll call Frank, no one will expect you to work today." 

Andy ignored him, pulling a brush savagely through her still wet hair. 

Sam took hold of her shoulders, and forced her to face him. "You shouldn't go in to work like this." His dark eyes were warm and filled with sympathy. 

Tears welled in Andy's eyes and she bit down hard on the inside of her lip to stop them. "I can't just sit around here doing nothing, don't you get that?" She shook his hands off her shoulders and busied herself pulling up her hair into a tight pony tail. "I need to work. I need to be there." 

"You should be with your friends." He tried one last time. 

Andy blinked away a fresh wave of tears. "No. I can't just..." She took a deep shuddering breathe, "I can't just sit around wallowing in it. I need to do something." She met his eyes, her own wide and pleading, "Please, just let me do this." 

Sam swallowed his protective urges, comforting himself with the idea that he was on duty in only a few hours and he would be able to keep half an eye on her. "Okay." He stood and pulled on a pair of boxers. “Can I at least make you breakfast before you go?”

She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.

He pulled her against his chest in a tight hug. Part of him, the selfish part that wanted to be needed, told him to hold her until she broke down and cried, but, instead, he released her almost immediately and pretended not to notice the bright sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. He knew she would need to talk about it eventually. Even Andy McNally wasn’t skilled enough at denial to completely ignore the death of a friend. Although, he’d known her long enough to know she would try.

Sam dressed and threw a pair of Eggo waffles in the toaster while Andy showered and dressed. When she appeared in the kitchen doorway it was almost impossible to tell she’d been on the verge of tears fifteen minutes earlier. He handed her a plate, “Apple or orange juice?”

“Just coffee.” Her voice was faint, like the protective film she was shrouded in was muffling the sound.

Sam poured her a cup and added a generous glug of milk before setting it in front of her. They ate in silence. Try as he might, Sam couldn’t think of a safely mundane topic. When she was through she kissed him softly and then disappeared out the front door.

For a long time, Sam sat, breakfast sandwich growing cold, staring blankly at the spot Andy had occupied, his mind churning. Eventually he rose, threw out his untouched food, and began to get ready for what looked to be a very long day.

75 Minutes Later

"Sam, we have another one." 

Sam was on his feet heading for the door in an instant. "Where?" He grabbed a coat and unlocked his front door with a single hand, the other pressing his cell phone to his ear. His heart raced with anticipation.

“73A Emerson Street.” Frank said after a brief pause,  “Jerry is already on scene, but he thinks it might be related.”

“Thanks Frank.” Sam was halfway to his truck when he thought to pull out his phone and send Jo a quick text. He knew she was technically still working the Jane Doe case, but since there had been no breaks in that case he figured she would want in on this. 

Traffic was light and Sam made good time through downtown. He was just crossing Dundas when his radio crackled to life, “This is 15-19. Shots fired at 1250 Bloor Street West, requesting backup.” Andy’s familiar voice on Sam’s radio sent a rush of adrenaline through his body. That was less than 5 blocks away, without thinking what he was doing, Sam turned right on Lansdowne and sped in the direction of the call.

There were two squad cars already parked in front of The Magic Carpet. Sam pulled his truck to the curb a few meters down the street and pushed his way through the small crowd of spectators already forming on the outside of the perimeter two cops he didn’t recognize were establishing.

A shot popped from inside the building. Followed rapidly by three more. Sam flashed his badge as the uniformed officers and sprinted for the building, ignoring the voice in his head that told him he should stay on the pavement and help secure the area. He pulled out his gun, the skin-warmed metal comforting against his palm, and began to work his way through along the hall. He moved quickly, but not recklessly, pausing at the doorway to listen and checking around each corner before rounding it. Taking a deep breath Sam pushed open the first door he came to, “Police, put your hands where I can see them,” he called before peeking his head around the door frame.

A woman in her thirties lay in a puddle of her own blood. Her glassy eyes were frozen in wide terror, a cell phone dangled from her fingers. Sam cleared the room quickly before moving on, there was nothing left for him to do here.

He had just stepped out into the hall again when he heard Andy’s voice from above him. “Police!”

He took the steps two and a time, slowing only when he reached the top step. Sam peered around the corner, he couldn’t see anything past an empty doorway.

“Hands were I can see them!” Andy’s voice was tense but not afraid, every bit the professional hardened by five years working the streets of Toronto. “Now!”

A shot rang out.

Cursing inwardly, he stepped around the corner, gun stretched out in front of him. He saw Andy first. She was crouched three meters to his left, her gun drawn. Relief flooded his body, _she was okay_. Oliver was on the other side of the door. He saw Sam and motioned curtly for Sam to get down, shooting him a look that screamed _what the hell are you doing?_

Sam ducked, but not quickly enough.

There was another bang. A flash of light across the room. A searing pain and then nothing.

 

 


	9. chapter eight

June 23, 2016

“Must be a hell of a flu bug,” Oliver said as he grabbed the keys for 1519 off their hook. “Epstein hasn’t missed more than a shift since his wife died.”

Andy flinched. She felt terrible for not telling Oliver what happened to Chris. Oliver had helped train him, they’d been part of a family for years, and she knew Oliver deserved to know. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. It was too horrible. And not only because the moment Frank found out, she would be put back behind a desk, answering phones for the third shift in a row.

No, she would wait. Tomorrow, when the reality set in and she couldn’t push the pain aside like a bad dream, she would tell them. Today, she needed a distraction, and she couldn’t think of a better distraction than working a ten hour day with Oliver at her side.

“Peck’s out too,” Oliver continued. He gave Andy an appraising look. “You don’t look great yourself, McNally, you feeling okay?”

Andy forced her lips to smile. “Fine. Coffee hasn’t sunk in yet.”

Oliver looked skeptical, but he didn’t push the issue. “Well if you puke in the squad you’re cleaning it up.”

Andy shot him an incredulous look,  which he ignored. There was a part of her that was grateful he'd assumed she was sick. It would mask her silence and, if she looked a little green, she could deal with that. Still, she couldn’t quite push aside the sick cold feeling of knowing Sam had been right. She should have called Frank… and Tracy. This wasn’t something to keep to herself. She knew all of this, and yet she climbed into the squad and didn’t say a word.  She sat in the passenger seat without even asking to drive and prayed for a busy day.

They were on the road for nearly an hour when dispatch called for a car to check on a disturbance at 1250 Bloor St West. Andy picked up the radio and accepted the call, thankful for something to do besides listen to Oliver's less than perfect singing. She was having a hard enough time holding it together without the litany of woes that poured from his favourite radio station.

1250 Bloor was a familiar address. The brothel had opened less than a year after the provincial government legalized brothels in 2012. To no one’s surprise, the first few years following the change in laws were rocky ones for the Toronto Police Service. Definitions of what was and wasn't solicitation may have been the turf of lawyers, but it was the local cops who had to decide when to step in. Domestic violence calls were also common. Though the brothel employed private security guards, there was only do much they were equipped to handle.

Oliver pulled the squad up along the curb. He left the lights running, but killed the engine and zipped the keys into his vest pocket as he climbed out of the car. Andy followed suit, resting one hand on the gun at her belt, the cool metal comforting against her palm.

Delilah Vreeland had been running The Magic Carpet since it opened in 2013. Before that she’d been a not infrequent visitor at fifteen division. They’d never gotten the madam on prostitution charges, but most of her girls had at least one arrest on their record and she always seemed to be turning up to post bail. When she saw Oliver she hurried towards them.

“Delilah, I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you again for at least a year.” Oliver smiled as he said it, but the concern in his eyes was real. “What happened this time?”

“He just came in yelling for Amber,” Delilah spoke rapidly, twisting her hands together. “

“Who?” Oliver looked concerned, “Is everyone okay?”

“He wouldn’t leave and when Santos tried to make him, he pulled out a gun.” Her voice was shaking and her kohl rimmed green eyes kept flitting towards the front door of her brothel. 

“He’s armed?” A jolt of adrenaline shot through Andy’s body. She shot Oliver a significant look, but before he could open his mouth there was a shot from inside the building. For a moment Andy felt like it was her very first day all over again. For that brief second she froze, and then instinct kicked in and almost before she was aware she'd started moving she had shoved Delilah down, told her to stay put and, weapon in hand, followed Oliver into the building, radioing for backup as she went. “This is 15-19. Shots fired at 1250 Bloor Street West, requesting backup.”

Andy had been in The Magic Carpet once before, two years ago, but she would never have recognized it today. The once calm interior with its carefully chosen zen colours (which she'd always thought were a weird choice in a place people had sex for money), beautiful girls, and simple furnishings was in a state of chaos. It also appeared deserted.

Exchanging a worried glance with Oliver, she followed his lead as room by room they cleared the ground floor. They found one of Delilah's girls in the first room they checked, from the wound to her head it was clear, even from the doorway that they were too late to help her. A sick feeling in her gut that was more regret than disgust, Andy turned her back of the gruesome sight and followed Oliver down the hall.

They cleared the first floor as quickly as they could without being reckless. Two more bodies, one of them she assumed was Santos and another girl. Each pop of the gun wound Andy’s nerves a little tighter until she wasn’t sure she would be able to refrain from shooting him the first chance she had. She may not agree whole heartedly with legal prostitution, but no one deserved to be hunted down in their place of work by some asshole with a hand gun.

They caught their first glimpse of the shooter as they reached the top of the stairs. "Police!" Andy yelled, bringing her gun to bear on his retreating figure.

He ducked into a room to his left and fired off two rounds. 

Andy took point, going as quickly as she dared. She moved to the open doorway, Oliver on her heels. 

A survey of the room, taken in several quick glances so as not to give him a target to aim for, revealed a sitting room with two armchairs flanking the door and a couch on the far side of the room. Andy was willing to bet their shooter was crouched behind it. She gestured silently to Oliver and then half stepped, half crawled into the room, taking cover behind one chintz armchair.  Oliver mirrored her movements, positioning himself on the other side of the door.

 _Now what?_ Andy's experience with cornered gunman was mercifully limited, but it left her a little unsure of what to do next. The academy had been a long time ago. They had him cornered, the only exit was just behind her and there was no way he was getting out alive unless he was also cuffed, she just wasn't quite sure how to tell him that without sounding like a bad TV cop drama.

“You’ve got nowhere to go.” She called across the room. “Put down the gun and come out slowly, with your hands up.”

She heard what sounded like a gun being reloaded and her heart stuttered for a moment before resuming its rapid thrumming. “We have the building surrounded.” She lied smoothly. Surely backup had arrived, it had taken then at least ten minutes to clear the building, though it seemed much longer. She’d switched off her radio after calling for them though, so there was no way to know what was happening out on the street.

“Hands where I can see them! Now!”

The man popped a shot off at random, missing both her and Oliver by several meters. Andy returned fire, a single bullet aimed straight at the place she suspected he was.

There was movement beside her and Andy turned quickly. _Sam?_ Before she could say anything there was another shot and Sam crumpled to the ground.

Andy swallowed a scream, even as she jammed her gun into her holster and reached for Sam’s fallen form. Oliver was faster, managing to grab Sam under the arms and drag him behind the cover of the chair. He pressed both hands to the wound. “McNally, take him out.”

Andy reached for her taser, because even with Oliver's hands staunching the steady flow of blood from the wound in Sam 's neck, she heard Sam's voice telling her to trust her gut. And even though there was a large part of her that wanted very much to kill the son of a bitch who'd shot at least three sex trade workers as well as the man she loved, Andy's gut told her to bring him in alive.

She moved quickly, keeping below the line of the couch so he wouldn’t see her coming. He half stood to scan the room and she pressed the trigger.

The leads hit home, attaching to the unsuspecting gunman and sending 50,000 volts coursing through his body. He convulsed for a moment and then he, and his gun, toppled to the ground and lay silent.

Andy closed the distance, pulling out cuffs with one hand, the other holding tightly to the handle of her gun. She kicked the gun away from his body before he had a chance to recover from the taser blast and slapped him into cuffs.

Across the room she could hear Oliver radioing for a medic and a detective.

Sam groaned and Andy fought the urge to run to his side. Instead she tightened her grip on the shooter and tried to silently telegraph to Oliver with her eyes that she really needed to be with Sam.

Apparently her telepathy link was broken because Oliver didn't even look up. "McNally take him down to the squad, wait for the ambulance and tell them where we are."

"Is he...?" she couldn't form the question.

"It grazed him," Oliver looked up briefly and flashed her a weak smile. "He's lost some blood, and it’s going to hurt like hell, but I've seen him recover from worse."

Andy hovered for a moment longer. Her feet did not want to carry her out of the room until Sam was out of danger.

"McNally!" Oliver barked, "Get him out of here."

On wooden legs, Andy did as commanded. She pushed the shooter with more force than strictly necessary - he seemed to have realized there was no escape and hadn't even tried to fight her since she'd hit him with the taser - stepping around where Oliver was continuing to apply pressure to Sam's wound. When she looked down Sam's eyes were closed, but he grimaced in pain, and she took it as a good sign.

Outside the brothel the street was in chaos. Sam's truck was parked two buildings down, and there were two cruisers in addition to 1519. All around the perimeter pedestrians had gathered to gawk at the scene. Andy caught sight of Delilah leaning against the side of a cruiser, a scratchy grey blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders to ward off the shock.

Andy slammed the gunman against the side of the car with more force than strictly necessary, holding him in place with one hand while the other opened the back door. She pushed him inside and slammed it shut, not bothering to even look at him before turning to find someone to take him to the barn. There was no way in hell she was leaving without knowing Sam was going to be okay.

April 4, 2003

_“You take care of your mom, okay, Amber?” Jonathan Sherman ruffled his daughter’s hair affectionately, tears burning at the back of his eyes. His little girl, God he was going to miss her. “Daddy’ll be back real soon, I promise. It’ll just go by like nothing.”_

_Amber smiled up at him, trusting the lie, too young to see through it. “Bye Daddy.” She gave him a kiss and then ran back into the house._ Monster’s Inc _was on, and what did a four year old know about saying goodbye?_

_“You’ll call?” Cassie, his wife of six years, asked, her voice thick._

_“As soon as I can. Might be a few days until I can get a phone hooked up though.”_

_She nodded. “I’m going to miss you.”_

_He pulled her into a hug. “I love you.” He said against her red curls._

_When he let her go he turned away immediately, unable to meet her eyes. If he met her eyes he knew he wouldn’t climb into the taxi, let alone hop on a plane and fly up north where there was work to be done and money to be made, but no loving wife to come home to, no daughter to sing to sleep. It hurt his heart just thinking about it. But with the plant closed down, for good he was told, and unemployment skyrocketing, the other choice was Welfare. So he hoisted his bag on his shoulder and walked away._

_How was he supposed to know he would never see Cassie ever again?_

June 23, 2016

“Sammy, how you doing?” Oliver knew the smile on his face looked as fake as it felt, but he gave it all he had anyway. The wound wasn’t fatal, but it was a gunshot and he knew full well that shock could be as deadly as a bullet if it wasn’t treated.

Sam groaned.

“Yeah, I know. It hurts.” Oliver looked over his shoulder, expecting at any minute to see the medics, or McNally, bursting through the door. He’d told her to take their collar back to the station, but if he knew McNally at all she would find a way back to Sam’s side. “You’re going to be okay. Couple stiches, a sexy new scar… ”

Sam’s chest shook in a silent, half-hearted chuckle. His face was pale, but already the blood flowing from the wound in his neck was slowing. He’d been lucky. A centimeter to the left and he would have bled out before anyone could do a thing to stop it.

“You know what, Brother? When you’re better, you and I are going to have words about barging into a crime scene alone.” Oliver shook his head, “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, but he knew better than to try and talk with Oliver’s hands pressing tightly to the side of his neck. Still, Oliver took it as a good sign.

“Sam?” Andy flew through the door, dropping to the ground beside Oliver, med kit in hand.

“McNally--? Where’s the guy?”

Andy shot him an incredulous look.

“You know, the shooter? You walked out of here with him in cuffs not two minutes ago..” Oliver resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Derickson is taking him back to the barn. Jo will meet them there.” She snapped on a pair of latex gloves and pulled a gauze pack out of the med kit. “Ambulance is ten minutes out.”

For several minutes the only sounds were tearing packets and Sam’s single grunt of pain when Andy packed the shallow wound with gauze. When no blood seeped through the second layer, Andy felt herself begin to breathe again. He was going to be okay.

At least until the hospital released him. After that she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t kill him herself. Her heart was still beating a mile a minute and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh, yell or cry. Maybe all three.

Andy spread the blanket she’d grabbed from the trunk over Sam’s body and propped his feet up on the med bag, moving him as little as possible. 

She took one of Sam’s hands in hers and squeezed it. He squeezed back, silent reassurance. She felt tears burning at the back of her eyes and blinked them away furiously. She hadn’t cried when Gail told her about Chris, she’d be damned if she was going to cry now.

“Well,” Oliver cleared his throat. “I’m going to go downstairs and wait for the medics. McNally, can I trust you to stay put?”

Andy nodded, placing her hands over Oliver’s so she could take over applying pressure to the wound until the ambulance arrived.

“Alright then.” Oliver looked at Sam and smiled, this time it actually felt real. “Don’t even think about moving until the guys in white tell you to.”

Sam’s lips quirked in acknowledgement, but otherwise he was still. His eyes were closed and his forehead creased in pain.

Oliver squeezed Andy’s shoulder, and said softly, “McNally, keep him conscious, watch for shock.” 

She nodded, eyes never leaving Sam’s face.

As Oliver walked away he could hear her talking to Sam in a soft voice. He smiled a little to himself. Despite the grisly circumstances, he was happy for his friend. It seemed like at long last Sam was going to get the girl.

June 17, 2003

_“No.”_

_“John…”_

_“No.” He shook his head, his brain refusing to take in the words._

_“I’m sorry, John.” Tom Jenkins placed a soothing hand on John’s arm._

_They’d been friends for over a decade, since John’s first day at Sainte-Thérèse Assembly in ’93. John used to work at the Scarborough Van Assembly, but when it shut its doors for good he found himself in Sainte- Thérèse, Quebec without a friend in the world and only a tenuous grasp on the French language. If it hadn’t been for Tom and Tom’s wife Yvette, he didn’t know what he would have done.  When the Sainte- Thérèse plant closed nine years later, John had once again leaned on Tom, taking a job at the same mine up north where the living was awful, but at least the money was good._

_“I’ve already spoken to Joe, you can have as much time as you need. The job’ll be waiting for you when you come back.” Tom_

_“Oh Jesus! Amber?”_

_“Yve has Amber. She’s fine, John.”_

_John snorted, “She’s fine? You just told me her mother is dead. How can you say she’s fine?”_

_“Just pack your stuff, I’ll drive you to the airport.”_

_“I can’t raise a little girl up here, Tom.”_

_“No, I don’t suppose you can.” There was a beat of silence and then he said, “Yve always wanted to have kids, but she couldn’t. She would… I mean… if you wanted…”_

_“Amber is all I have.”_

_“And we would never try and take her from you, I just thought…” Tom stopped himself. “Never mind. Get your stuff, we can talk about this another time. Just know, whatever you need we’ll be with you.”_

June 23, 2016

“Peck!” Frank picked up his extension, happy to hear from someone who’d followed protocol. He’d just spent twenty minutes being yelled at by the superintendent over the brothel shooting and was of half a mind to drive over to the hospital and give Swarek what for. “How’s Diaz?”

“He’s…” Gail’s voice was thick.

She took a deep shuddering breath and Frank’s heart clenched. _No. Not Diaz. Not today._

“He didn’t make it.”

Frank closed his eyes. “Damnit!” There was a long beat of silence. “Does McNally--?”

“I called her this morning.”

Frank clenched and unclenched the hand that wasn’t holding the phone in frustration. What had she been thinking going on shift?  Did no one at this station understand what it meant to be a cop? The job was dangerous. Coming to work with half your mind elsewhere was a good way to get yourself or someone else killed. “How are you?

Gail sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

“And Epstein?”

The line was silent as if Gail was searching for the right answer. “We’re back in Toronto. We’ll be back on shift tomorrow.”

“Take a couple of days.” It came out more like a command than he’d intended, but that was one of the perks of being Staff Sergeant, you got to be bossy. Besides, the last thing he needed was a crew of grieving officers making stupid mistakes. He had enough stupid on his plate already.

“Thank you sir. I’ll talk to Dov and let you know.”

“Whatever you need, okay?”

With a final thanks, Gail disconnected. For a long moment Frank sat, staring at nothing, clutching the phone in his hand. Eventually he dialed another number. He needed to hear his wife’s voice.

January 25, 2009

_Amber Sherman knew the funeral mass by heart. Not something many ten year olds could say, but she did._

_First there had been mom. She barely remembered her now, and that hurt more than the loss itself._

_Then, a year later, Uncle Tom (not really an uncle, but she’d called him that and loved him as if he were a second dad) was killed in a mining accident. Dad had been hurt too, a blow to the head that slowed his movements and speech just enough to be frightening to a seven year old._

_Today they were burying Yvette Martineau, Tom’s wife and the only mom Amber really remembered having._

_So yes, she knew the mass by heart. It wasn’t something she bragged about. It just was._

June 23, 2016

Andy sipped at the hospital’s excuse for coffee and focused on breathing through her mouth. She hated hospitals, not that anyone really _liked_ hospitals, but she hated them. It was the antiseptic smell, and the constant motion and noise. There was never a still or silent moment in the hospital. Even though most of the people there craved nothing more than a little peace.

 _“He’s going to be fine.”_ The nurse’s words from ten minutes earlier were the lifeline that Andy was holding on to. 

She looked over at the bed where Sam lay,  fast asleep.

They were running tests to make sure it was nothing but the graze to the side of his neck which they had already closed up with a neat row of stitches, and giving him a pint of blood to replace what he left behind on the brothel floor. There was a second IV which the nurse had said was antibiotics, “just in case.” In case of what she didn’t specify. Andy wondered if anyone told her where Sam had been when he was shot.

Once the test results were back they would be free to go. For now they’d given him enough painkillers to knock out a horse and told her he shouldn’t go home alone, which was fine. She didn’t plan on letting him out of her sight.

He looked so pale against the white sheets, vulnerable.  She'd never thought of Sam as vulnerable. He was strong, almost invincible. It made her feel safe, at least when she was with him. Sam was the kind of man who would always protect you. But it also made her afraid. Not for him, but for herself. She was ashamed to admit it. She wanted him to need her. Needed it. And that scared her more than anything.

Jo had said he turned down the task force for her. It should have made her feel special, somehow. He was choosing her. It was what she thought she wanted. Instead it made her feel like a ball and chain; a lead weight around his ankles, dragging him down to her level. Sam was a great cop. He deserved this chance. Instead, here he was; lying in a hospital bed with twelve stitches and two IVs.

Sam’s eyelids fluttered slightly and then his eyes were open. He smiled at her.

Andy returned his smile, although she couldn’t stop her lips from trembling. One of the tears she’d been fighting back for hours tumbled down her cheek. She rolled her eyes upwards and blinked rapidly trying to keep the rest at bay.

“Come here,” Sam tugged at her hand, shifting over a little to make room for her on the narrow hospital bed.

Andy slid onto the bed next to him and let him pull her against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. He rubbed her back in gentle circles with the hand that wasn’t attached to the IVs. “Andy, I’m so sorry.”

She couldn’t respond. There was a lump in her throat the size of  fist and she knew if she tried to do anything more than breathe she would burst into sobs that might never quit. She shook her head and buried her face against Sam’s chest, letting the cheap cotton hospital gown absorb the tears she could no longer hold at bay. ****

November 1, 2013

_“You’re such a hypocrite!” Amber practically shook with rage. Her bright red hair, at least the side that wasn’t shaved, hung in her eyes as she glowered at her father. “Mom was ten years younger than you!”_

_“That was different. She wasn’t fourteen years old.” Jonathan stared at his daughter and wondered, not for the first time, where it had all gone wrong. When had his adorable, wide eyed, Sully-loving daughter turn into this? He’d lost track of the piercings after the third one he’d forcibly removed before grounding her long enough for the holes to grow over. Right now she was sporting a lip ring and a barbell through her nose. He thought it made her look like a bull and a part of him was tempted to just attach a chain to it and keep her here by force._

_“I love him!”_

_Jonathan rolled his eyes. “You’re fourteen, sweetie. He’s too old for you. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”_

_“Ugh! You’re ruining my life!” She cried, slamming her bedroom door shut._

_Jonathan stood outside until he heard Avenged Sevenfold blaring from her speakers and then turned with a heavy sigh. Days like this he missed Cassie so much it hurt. She would have known exactly what to say._

June 23, 2016

Jo met the squad car in the garage. She’d beat them to the station by just long enough to convince Frank to let her have this one. He’d wanted to wait for Callaghan to return from the scene, but she’d managed to convince him to at least let her take a run at the guy. It helped when she reminded him she’d solved her first case at fifteen division in a single day.

There wasn’t anything for her to do immediately. Taking a suspect through booking was below her pay grade, but she wanted to get a feel for him before he had a chance to lawyer up. When they emptied his pockets she fished his license out of his pocket. _Jonathan Sherman_ , born January 3, 1967, Toronto resident. She asked Derickson to get Mr. Sherman a cup of coffee and settle him in Interview One and turned towards the bull pen.

This one was being done by the books, which meant she wanted to know what she was looking for before she set foot in the room. There wasn’t much on Sherman in the system. His wife was dead, they had one child, and he collected Welfare. The only interesting things the background check had pulled up were a restraining order filed by a Markus Aristu in 2015 and a missing persons report filed November 5, 2013. She flipped through the report. It was pretty standard, girl runs away from home to live with her boyfriend, blah, blah, blah. Blame it on Shakespeare.

When Jo hit the final page she froze. Maybe it was a coincidence, but Jo didn't really believe in coincidences, not in a murder investigation. And Andrew Lefebvre wasn't that common a name.

Heart racing, Jo pulled out a chair and logged into her computer. If she was right this might be the most important interview in her entire career.

November 4, 2013

 _The words on the note blurred before his eyes._ I’m moving to Toronto with Andrew. Don’t come looking for me. – Amber.

_Jonathan crumpled the piece of paper in his hand, anger and hurt welling up inside until it was almost impossible to breathe. His 14 year old had run away from home to shack up with her 18 year old, good for nothing, gang banger boyfriend. “I’m so sorry, Cass.” He muttered as the first tear spilled down his face._

June 23, 2016

“How’s Sam?” Frank met Oliver in the parking lot, barely waiting for him to leave the car before leaping in with questions. Today was not his favourite day. First he’d learned that Chris Diaz was dead, and that McNally knew about it and hadn’t called in for time off. Now Sam Swarek was getting himself shot at crime scenes he wasn’t even supposed to be at. If the bullet didn’t kill him, Frank would be happy to give it a try. He should have known letting McNally and Swarek work together was a mistake.

Oliver smiled tiredly. “He’ll be fine. Medics thought he’d need a few stitches, maybe some blood. I sent McNally to the hospital with him.”

Frank raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Honestly, he probably would have made the same call, even without knowing about Diaz. McNally couldn’t possibly be in an emotional state to work today. “Good call. Rosati has the suspect in Interview One, she’d like to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Oliver gave Frank an appraising look. The staff sergeant looked tired, the kind of tired that couldn’t be explained away by raising a kid or wrangling cops. “You alright, Frank?”

“It’s been a day.” Frank said evasively. He was already four men down, telling Oliver would have to wait until the end of the day.

“Diaz?” Oliver asked, his face giving nothing away.

“He passed away last night.” Frank replied.  “Didn’t McNally tell you?”

Oliver shook his head, his blue eyes glistened slightly, but he blinked the moisture away and forced a tight smile. “Epstein called yesterday, thought I should know Diaz was hurt.”

“McNally didn’t say anything?” Frank was sure he looked as frustrated as he felt, but this was Oliver. They’d been working together for almost two decades, he didn’t have to fake it.

 “She did a damn good job in there today Frank.” Oliver clapped Frank on the shoulder as he walked past him into the station,  “Don’t be too hard on her.”

Frank nodded. “Thanks.”

November 4, 2015

_Two years._

_That was how long it had been since Jonathan had seen his daughter. Two long years of never being more than six inches from his phone, of jumping every time he heard a car door in the street, of looking around every corner hoping to see her._

_He’d lost his job. No one wanted an employee who interrogated every young person who walked through the door, hoping to find someone who had seen his daughter. He’d lost the house too. Not that it mattered. A single man living alone didn’t need three bedrooms. The studio apartment on Bathurst that was all his welfare check could afford had plenty of room for him and his regrets._

_He spent his days wandering aimlessly through Toronto, hoping his daughter was still in the city she’d run to two years earlier. But every passing day, hope was harder and harder to come by. Bitterness was easier, and crushing, debilitating rage. When he found them, and he would not rest until he did, that punk was going to pay for what he’d done to Amber._

June 23, 2016

“She ran away you know. Amber. When she was fourteen. My baby. Said she was in love and when I said no, she just.. left.” He took a deep, unsteady breath. “Do you have kids?”

Jo shook her head. “No. No kids.” She wasn’t used to playing good cop, but then she wasn’t used to suspects who spilled their innermost thoughts with barely any input from her either. They’d been in the interview room for under an hour and he’d already told her about his wife, dead more than ten years back, and the horrors of working up north. Her job so far had been to sit back, take notes and wait for him to get to the good stuff.

“I never wanted kids. Just Cass. She was enough for me.” He smiled sadly at the table top. “Then she told me she was pregnant and everything changed. That little girl was my whole world. Especially after…” He paused.

Jo waited, feigning patience even though she wanted to yell or threaten or intimidate, something that actually felt like doing her job. This was why she didn’t play good cop. It was too passive, too friendly and messy. She liked to keep it clean. In, threaten, listen, out. Clean. Simple. Effective. This waiting for people to sort out their thoughts and decide what to spill made her feel like a shrink, and not a good one.

“You ever pulled a finger nail clear off, Detective?” The sorrow was gone from Sherman’s voice. In its place was a cool, detached fascination, like he was telling her something interesting he’d read in _Wired_ that month. It was a tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

She shot a half glance over her shoulder. There better be someone who knew what they were doing on the other side of the glass. This was about to get much bigger than one man going postal on a brothel.

“It’s harder than it looks on TV.” Sherman continued in the same voice. “Those Hollywood bastards make everything look so clean and simple. You just give it a good yank and there she goes. But it’s not like that. It sticks. Like the nail just doesn’t want to let go. You gotta kind of peel it, pull it back bit by bit until it’s almost tore free, then give it a good strong yank. And it don’t trickle with blood, or well up slow like a deep cut. It spurts. Did you know blood spurts in time with the heart?” He looked up at her, waiting until she nodded before continuing.

“When you’re real scared it’s faster. Like a sprinkler set on high. It gets everywhere. Especially when they struggle. And they always struggle because it hurts. You’ve ever slammed your finger in a door you know it’s got a bunch of nerves under that nail and every one of them screams when you start pulling back. Only problem with that is it’s hard for a man to tell you what you want to know when he’s calling for his mama. But I figured that out pretty quick. You just do it one at a time and give it a minute or two in between. If he hasn’t told you what you want to know by the time the second one stops spurting, he either doesn’t know or’s too brave and _stupid_ to tell you. After that it goes a lot quicker.”

“Was Andrew Lefebvre brave or stupid?” The twenty one year old drug runner had been found dead in his home less than an hour before the brothel shooting. Jo had been on her way to the scene when Frank had called her back to the barn to conduct this interview. From Jerry’s initial report, Andrew’s fingernails had all been pulled, making him, at least in Jo’s eyes, victim number eight in Sam’s case.

Sherman’s face darkened. “Andrew Lefebvre had it coming.”

May 20, 2016

_He’d thought he was prepared for anything. He was wrong._

_This was not where he was supposed to see her. Anywhere but here. She’d changed her hair, lost most of the piercings, grown too thin.. but it was unmistakably her. His Amber. His little girl. His biggest failure. Smiling at him from an artist’s sketch on the 11 o’clock news._

_“Police are looking for anyone who can help identify this girl…”_

_He turned the TV off. He knew what he needed to do. And, God have mercy, he was going to enjoy it._

June 23, 2016

“Why?” On the outside Jo looked as relaxed as she always did, but inside she felt like a coiled live wire, ready to jump up at any moment. Two months without a single break and now, across from her, sat the bastard they’d been fruitlessly chasing.

“Andrew Lefebvre took my daughter from me.”

“Where is she?” Jo asked, taking a sip of coffee and pretending she wasn’t waiting on the answer with baited breath. “Amber. Where is she now?”

“You really don’t know? I thought you’d’ve figured it out by now.” Jonathan rubbed a hand over his face. “I mean you’ve been showing her picture ‘round the whole goddam country for near a month now. Figured someone’d recognize her.”

Jo felt every muscle in her body go still for a moment. Jane Doe. But… “She was your daughter?”  It wasn’t really a question. Suddenly everything had fallen into place.

May 23, 2016

_This was the closest to alone his target had been all day, and Jonathan wasn't going to wait until tomorrow. If he waited for tomorrow he might lose his nerve._

_The waitress was a shame, she hadn't done anything wrong. Unless wrong place, wrong time counted. He shot her first. The druggie never even saw it coming, he hit the ground with the stupid smile still on his face. Jonathan stepped over his body with barely a thought and pressed the gun to his target's forehead. "Hello Vincent."_

_Vincent Aristu hadn’t changed much from the lanky thirteen year old who used to walk Amber home from school, at least until the day he introduced her to his brother’s best friend, Andrew Lefebvre. He stared at Jonathan with wide eyes, "Mr. Sherman?"_

_"Where is he?"_

_Vincent's eyes widened. “Andrew?”_

_Jonathan gabbed one of Vincent’s wrists firmly and twisted it behind his back. He pushed Vincent across the room, forcing him into a straight backed chair. He traded the gun in his hands for a roll of duct tape from the band of his pants and wrapped three times around Vincent’s shoulders, securing him in place. “Where is he?”_

_"I haven't seen him in months."_

_Jonathan scoffed. “You know where he is.”_

_“No!” Vincent tried to pull free, but the tape held his fore arms to his sides and his body to the chair._

_Without warning, Jonathan drove one of his steel toed boots into Vincent’s calf. “Don’t lie to me.”_

_“I-I’m not lying.” Vincent’s voice trembled slightly. “Ever since Amber—“_

_Jonathan used the put of the gun to slap him across the face. The metal cut into Vincent’s cheek, releasing a trickle of blood. “Don’t say her name.”_

_“I don’t know where he is!”_

_“Alright.” Jonathan tucked the gun into the back of his pants and Vincent sagged visibly in relief._

_“Look man, I’m sorry about…” He trailed off, eyeing the older man warily.  “I know she misses you like crazy.”_

_“Amber is dead.” Jonathan said in a flat sort of voice, pulling something shiny and metal from his left pocket. “And you are going to tell me why.”_

_The shaking didn't start until he got home. When the adrenaline wore off and the screams and tears and all the blood really sank into his mind. He downed half a bottle of cheap vodka, it didn’t help. He sat on the floor, legs pulled into his chest and shook._

_The next day, he started all over again. Only now he had a new name. His daughter’s pimp. Lucas Mariano. This time he wasn’t going to end it so quickly. This time he would fight past the urge to vomit. The cold clenched fist in his stomach wasn’t going to stop him from making Mariano pay for every foul thing that Amber had been forced to do._

 


	10. chapter nine

June 27, 2016

 “I’m going.”

Andy smiled a little at Tracy’s tone. It was still a month until her friend’s due date and she’d already been on bed rest for six weeks. No wonder she sounded ready to mutiny. “Everyone will understand if you can’t.”

“It’s Chris.” Tracy said in a choked voice. “I’m going to be there if I have to wheel myself on Jerry’s skateboard.”

“She’ll be the ravishing woman in the wheel chair,” Jerry’s voice called from the background.

Andy’s heart ached a little. They were so perfect together. She never would have thought seven years ago when Tracy was sleeping with one of their former instructors and she was trying to make things work with Luke Callaghan and ignore the burning sexual tension with her Training Officer that things would end this way. “I’ll see you there.” She said disconnecting the call before she gave in to the tears that always seemed to be hovering just on the edge.

“You okay?” Sam asked. He was leaning against the door frame. The white bandage on his neck mostly hidden by the collar of his dress shirt. The stitches had come out two days ago, but the doctor wanted him to keep it covered for another week just to be safe.

“Yes. No.” Andy shrugged. Her emotions were all over the place. She wasn’t sure if it was Chris or Sam that had her so mixed up. Maybe it was both. She hadn’t slept in four days. Every time she nodded off she saw Sam crumpling to the ground, only in her dreams it wasn’t a bullet graze. Sometimes the bullet went straight through his chest, or his head, killing him instantly. Most of the time it nicked an artery and no matter how firmly she pressed her hands against the wound she couldn’t stop its spurting. Every time she felt him go limp under her hands and heard her and Jo’s last conversation, _“you think he said no because of me?” “Who else?”_

She forced a smile she didn’t feel and rose to her feet. Her dress uniform was neatly pressed, right down to the perfectly straight crease down the center of each leg. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, it was just going to end up all over her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back in a tight French braid that would fit under her hat but hold its shape when she took the hat off to enter the chapel. She looked serious and sad and altogether perfect for a funeral.

Sam opened his arms and she stepped into them, allowing him to pull her against him. “I’ll be right here. If there’s anything you need.”

Funny, once that would have made her feel safe. Now it made her feel responsible. “I know.”  She stepped back, set her hat on her head, centering it with both hands. “Let’s go.”

 

 

 

The chapel was packed. The family had held their own memorial in Timmins where he was buried, but no one had objected when Denise suggested a second service in Toronto the day after. She hadn’t lived in Toronto for more than a couple of months, but she knew Chris’ coworkers and friends and that he had loved them like family. There would be no casket, no grave side, just a big picture of Chris on the alter and most of his favourite people in the world crowded into the front three pews to say goodbye.

Andy sat in the front row, Traci on one side, Gail on the other. Jerry and Sam sat directly behind them, and Sam reached forward to squeeze her shoulder, offering her silent support. It was all he’d ever given her, but this was the first time she’d wished he wouldn’t. His unconditional support only reminded her what he was giving up for her.

Dov was on Gail’s other side. He hadn’t let go of her hand since they stepped out of the car. If it had been any other day, Andy wouldn’t have been able to stop teasing them. As it was, she was just glad they had each other to lean on. She’d never had a brother so she couldn’t say for sure, but the relationship between Dov and Chris had absolutely gone beyond that of friendship to family. Even after he moved back to Timmins in search of some peace and quiet, and chasing the girl he’d let slip through his fingers, he and Dov had remained closer than close.

Oliver took his place behind the microphone and the room quieted almost immediately.

“Thank you all for coming.” Oliver gave the assembled group, a mix of police and civilians whose lives Chris had touched, a small smile. “We are all here today to say goodbye to our friend and colleague, Chris Diaz, and to pay tribute to his life, and, in our own ways, to express our love and admiration for him. On behalf of fifteen division and Chris’ finance, Denise, thank you all for being with us today.

When Denise first asked me if I would officiate, I thought ‘Oh God, why me?’ but as we worked together to plan this memorial, I realized what a great... tremendous honour it is to be standing here today. Chris Diaz was a great man, and a great cop.” Oliver paused for a moment, blinking away the sheen of tears in his eyes before continuing. “Most of you know me pretty well, and you know I like to give speeches.”

Andy chuckled along with most of the congregation. It felt strange, it seemed like all she’d done for the last four days was cry. 

“I’m not going to give a speech today. But I do have something I want to read. I didn’t write it, but bear with me anyway. It’s by Henry Scott Holland. I know Chris would have shared his sentiment. 

Death is nothing at all,  
I have only slipped away into the next room.  
Whatever we were to each other, we still are.  
Please, call me by my old familiar name.  
Speak of me in the same easy way you always did.  
Laugh, as we always laughed, at the little jokes we shared together.  
Think of me and smile.  
Let my name be the household name it always was,  
Spoken without the shadow of a ghost in it.  
Life means all it ever meant.  
It is the same as it ever was.  
Death is inevitable, so why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?  
I am but waiting for you, - for an interval very near.  
Nothing is past or lost.  
One brief moment and all will be as it was before,  
Only better and happier.  
Together forever.  
All is well.

At this time I’d like to invite anyone who wants to say a few words about Chris to come on up.” Oliver picked up his notes, folding them precisely in four before sliding them into his pocket. He stepped down from the raised platform at the front of the chapel and took his seat in the front row.

Frank, looking dignified and grave in his dress uniform, stepped up to the microphone. “Chris Diaz was an amazing guy. An idealist. The first time I met him I couldn’t believe this sweet, friendly kid  was going to be a cop. I wouldn’t have given him two weeks on the job. But he made it through the first two weeks, and the rest of his six month probation and I realized there was something special about the guy from Timmins.”

As Frank shared some of his favourite moments from Chris’ years at fifteen, Andy felt the butterflies stirring in her stomach. Suddenly the words she’d practiced in front of the bathroom mirror seemed so trite, so inadequate. As if sensing her inner turmoil, Sam’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. She placed her own hand over his, lacing their fingers together, selfishly clinging to the support he offered.

“Chris always wanted to be a good cop.” Frank smiled as he spoke. “There was one night when I was training Chris, we were doing some undercover work and we put Diaz in these tight white pants.” He shook his head at the memory. “But he let us. He wore the hell out of those pants.”

There was a ripple of watery laughter. Noelle smiled up at her husband. She remembered that night well. Sitting in the squad car, laughing at a rookie, she hadn’t been kidding when she said nights like that were why she loved her job. A tear trickled down her cheek. It was impossible to believe that Chris was gone. They’d never see him at a July 1 barbeque or a mutual friend’s birthday. She took a deep shuddering breath. She was so grateful Frank had offered to speak for both of them, she didn’t know if she could get up and talk right now without breaking down completely.

“Goodbye Chris. You will be missed.” Frank concluded, smiling sadly at the portrait of Chris as he stepped back from the microphone to make room for the next speaker.

Dov squeezed Gail’s hand before releasing it to step up to the microphone. He pulled out two sheets of paper from his coat pocket and placed them on the lectern “Chris was best man at my wedding.” He began in a steady voice that belied the slight tremble of his fingers.  “Two weeks ago he asked me to be his.” Dov smoothed the papers with both hands. “I was so excited I started writing my speech right away. I’d really like him to hear it, if that’s okay.” He looked at Denise.

“Yeah,” she said in a hoarse voice. Tears were already streaming from her eyes, but she nodded encouragingly.

“Let me start by saying that it is an honour to be here with Chris for the happiest day of his life. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Dov, the best man. I like long walks on the beach and really expensive scotch.

“I met Chris in our first week at the Academy. Some mean blonde girl was giving him a hard time about his long distance girlfriend.” Dov met Gail’s eyes and winked.

She shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

“Chris is the best friend I have ever had. He’s the kind of guy who wasn’t just your buddy. When Chris was your friend you were in his life. I’d never met anyone so open and trusting. I always figured it was a small town thing, but I’ve been to Timmins now, and I know better.” Several people chuckled.

“Of course Chris isn’t perfect, and there are a few things I think I should tell Denise, now that it’s too late for her to run away screaming. As a roommate, Chris left a few things to be desired. Especially when it came to operating the bathroom lock.”

A sob welled up in Gail’s throat and she pressed her hand to her mouth, clenching the other so tightly her nails bit into her palm. She could practically see Chris standing in the bathroom of their old apartment, brushing his teeth. It was so long ago, and yet she could see it like it was happening right then.

“You see, when we lived together it was in this little two bedroom near U of T and, like most student housing, the place could have used a little TLC. The bathroom in particular had this little quirk. The door lock sometimes… stuck on the inside. Which was no big deal, unless you were alone in the apartment. Then you could be stuck for hours until someone came home and let you out.

“This was never a problem for me, or Gail, or any of the overnight guests we had over the years. But Chris somehow never learned not to lock the door when he was home alone. This one time, I had just responded to a call and we were taking a suspect back to the barn when Chris called. He’d locked himself in the bathroom. Well, I couldn’t leave and Gail was on a traffic patrol, so I told him to take a nice long bath or something and we’d be there when we were off shift.”

“Well, patience is not Chris’ strong suit. At least not when it comes to being shut in an apartment bathroom for six hours with no food and nothing to do. So he started calling people. First it was the building superintendent. Then the maintenance number. When neither of these people picked up, Chris started to get desperate. So he started to call anyone he could think of who could pick a lock.

“Fortunately for Chris, Tracy Nash was off shift that day and she came and liberated him from his porcelain prison. But, that wasn’t quite the end of the story. Because, three days later, I’m just getting off shift and it’s Chris on the phone. Locked in the bathroom again.” Dov cleared his throat. “So, Denise, if you ever need to know where your husband is. Check the bathroom first.

“It’s traditional for the best man to offer some words of wisdom. After much research and soul searching, I think I found the secret to a long and happy marriage. Try not to go to bed on an argument, but if you must: argue naked.

And I will leave you now with a toast. Here’s to Chris and Denise. May you live happily ever after.”

Denise met Dov at the edge of the stage when he stepped down and wrapped him in a tight hug. “He would have loved that speech,” she whispered softly before releasing him.

Dov forced a smile and then turned away, returning to his spot beside Gail. She leaned her head against his shoulder. He reclaimed her hand and focused his attention at the front where Andy now stood, hands twisting nervously.

“As you’ve already heard, and I’m sure you know, Chris was a great guy. He was a good friend and a fantastic cop. He loved his job. Even if Toronto sometimes made him crazy, he always loved being a cop.” Andy raised her eyes, scanning the room. When her eyes met Sam’s she didn’t look away. “What many of you may not know, is that Chris was a terrible horseman. Six years ago there were a couple of spots open to train for the Mounted Division. Dov, Chris and I all signed up. Of the three of us only Dov knew one end of the horse from the other, but if Dov made me look like an amateur, he made Chris look like a kid who’d just gotten the training wheels taken off his bike. Our first day I think Chris fell off that horse seven times, twice at a walk. But the next day he was back, a smile on his face and by the end of the week he could canter down the length of the ring with a bucket of water without spilling a single drop.

“That was just how he was. It didn’t matter if he was good at it at first, let alone the best. He didn’t need to be the best. As long as he was doing his job and helping people, Chris didn’t worry about the rest of it. Chris was unfailingly humble. He was goofy and sweet, and hopelessly in love with Denise.”

 Sam smiled, his dark eyes never leaving her face.

“Denise, I hope you know he was never as happy as when he was with you. The day he called to tell me he was engaged was he most excited I have ever heard him.”

Denise nodded. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

“Chris, we will miss you.” Andy finished, fixing her gaze on the picture of Chris for a long silent moment before turning back to her seat.

Dov squeezed Gail’s hand and let go, expecting her to rise and walk up to the microphone.

Instead she clung more tightly to his hand. “I can’t,” she whispered.

He turned so he could see her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and the small amount of eye makeup she’d worn was nearly all washed away by her tears. Her lips were pressed in a tight, trembling line. “Are you sure?” He asked. He knew Gail was terrified of speaking in public, but he sensed this was more than just that.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” He pulled her against his side, bringing one hand up to brush her cheek. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “He would understand.”

Tracy stood slowly, allowing Jerry to help her even though she didn’t really need it. She was wearing a simple black dress. She was too far along in her pregnancy for her dress uniform to fit. She felt under dressed surrounded by all the navy blue, under dressed and the size of a whale. Jerry took her arm and walked with her to the platform. He stepped aside when she moved in front of the microphone. Staying close enough to catch her if he needed to.

Tracy swallowed the lump in her throat. “There’s not much to say about Chris that hasn’t been said already. He wasn’t competitive, but I think he was the best one of our class. Not in specific skills, Andy was always the best shot, Gail got the best grades, Dov was the best driver and I was the best at putting two and two together. But Chris was the best of us. He was the kindest, the most sincere. His boundless optimism was sometimes baffling, but it kept us going even when times were tough. I don’t know if we would have made it to today if it weren’t for Chris.” Tracy swiped a rogue tear from her cheek. “Thank you Chris for being in our lives. You will be missed more than words can say.”

Denise waited until Tracy was settled back in her seat by a fussing Jerry before taking the stage. She looked out at the group of people before her and gave them a watery smile. “I don’t know how many of you knew about Chris’ life before he came to Toronto. But I just wanted to say that he thought of all of you as his family.” Denise’s voice broke on the word. “He loved you all and he would be so, so honoured that you came today. Thank you.” She stepped down, one hand pressed to her mouth to hold off a sob.

Dov was standing in the aisle, waiting for her. She stepped into his arms, allowing his dress uniform to absorb her tears.

Oliver patted Dov on the shoulder on his way back to the microphone. “We’re going to wrap this up now. I know a lot of you need to get back for the afternoon shift. Thank you everyone for coming. For those who have time, there will be a reception in the hall to your left. Feel free to stay, eat and keep talking about Chris.”

Slowly the chapel emptied out until it was only them, Andy, Sam, Gail, Dov, Traci, Jerry, Oliver, Frank, Noelle, and Denise. They gathered together at the front of the chapel, almost instinctively. Chris’ Toronto family. 

 

 

 

Sam unlocked his front door and stepped back to let her precede him. “You go change,” Sam said in a gentle voice. “I’ll cook us some dinner.” When she didn’t move Sam pulled her into his arms. She hadn’t said a word since the funeral. He wished he could take the pain away, even for a moment.

"We can't... I can’t--” Andy pushed away from him. Turning to face him, her red rimmed eyes filled with unspeakable pain. “That could have been you, Sam!"

"Andy--"

"No. You ran into a building with no backup and no vest four days ago." Andy swiped a tear off her cheek. "Do you have any idea how scared that made me? I haven't slept, I can't breathe. You could have been killed and I can't..." She trailed off, covering her face with both hands and sucking in noisy gulps of air.

Sam reached for her, but she pulled away as soon as his fingers grazed her bare shoulders. "I'm sorry."

Andy wiped the tears off her cheeks and shot him a wounded look. "That's it?"

Frustration welled up inside Sam. "What do you want me to say?" He'd made a mistake. He knew that, everyone knew that, but he'd thought Andy of all people would understand why. "That I knew you were inside and all I could think about was getting to you?"

"Thank you." Andy's eyes filled with tears, her throat tightened. She’d needed to hear it. Even though she knew it was true, she’d needed him to say it. She didn’t think she would have the strength to go through with this otherwise.

For a moment Sam stared at her, and then it dawned on him. "No, Andy..."

She shrugged, no longer bothering to check the tears trickling down her cheeks. "I'm not good for you, Sam." The words sounded trite, like a bad soap opera break up, but they were also true.

Sam took two steps and grasped her by the shoulders almost roughly, his eyes flashed. "Don't say that." 

Andy stared up at his face for a long time, memorizing its lines. When she spoke her voice was barely a whisper, "It's true." She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his.

He kissed her back desperately; trying to convey how sorry he was and how badly he needed her in that kiss. His hands slid beneath her shirt, splaying across her back, pulling her tightly against him. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Their kisses grew more and more sporadic as piece after piece of clothing hit the floor.

 

 

 

Andy pulled on her jeans and shirt without looking at him. She could still taste him on her lips, feel his hands roaming over her body, covering every inch of her as if he could imprint her on his skin. It would be so easy to give in, to fall into bed with him and never get up. They could damn the world and hold on to this… whatever they had…. until everything crashed around their ears leaving nothing but pain and a list of 'if only' longer than ever. But she couldn't do that to him. She loved him. God help her, she loved him so much it hurt. But love wasn't everything. And It wasn't enough.

Sam pulled on his jeans and belted them, his eyes never leaving Andy's bowed head. "Stay." It was half command, half prayer.

"I never stopped caring about you... but the reasons we broke up, they're still reasons." Andy forced herself to look at him and took three steps back for good measure. "We can't keep doing this. I can't do this."

Sam bit back the argument forming on his tongue. It didn't matter what he thought. It hadn't mattered five years ago, it didn't matter today. The glorious and hideous thing about relationships was that they went both ways. If Andy didn't see a future for them, there wasn't one.

"I'm sorry." Andy wrapped her arms around her body, looking every inch as if she wanted to flee.

Sam’s heart thudded thickly in his chest, each beat a fresh stabbing pain, but he would survive. That was what he did. Survive. If he had a chance for more than survival, he couldn't see it now.

A tear escaped her eyes, trickling down her cheek.

Sam closed the distance between them, stopping himself just short of brushing them away. 

She forced a smile through the tears that were falling one by own from her impossibly sad eyes. "Goodbye Sam."

And then her lips were on his. Sam's hands rose to grip her shoulder's tightly as he returned her kiss. Their last kiss. Filled with desperation. Heartbreak was salty and wet, and crueller than Sam had ever imagined. When she pushed back, his head was still spinning. He gulped in a deep breath of air and watched helplessly as she turned and walked away.

Five years ago he'd smashed a glass against the wall in anger, today he just stood there, arms at his sides, staring at the place she had been. He wasn't angry. He didn't have enough left in him to be angry anymore. He was just... empty. Done.

For seven years Andy McNally had held his heart in the palm of her hand. Sometimes he'd forgotten, but then she would smile, or put herself in danger, or cry and he would be there. He couldn't help it. He'd never wanted it. But it hadn't ever been right… hadn't ever been 'normal.' He'd wanted her, loved her, hated her... but always, no matter what, she had been there, sitting in the corner of his brain, a broadsword in her hands.

Now, suddenly, painfully, she was gone. She wasn't coming back. He was free.

And all he wanted was to throw himself at her feet and beg for blissful captivity.

June 28, 2016

 

“Sam.” Frank sounded surprised. “What can I do for you?” He put down his pen and looked up at his old friend expectantly.

Sam jumped to the point before he could change his mind. “The task force—“

“Changed your mind?” Frank interrupted, face breaking into a smile.

Sam shrugged, “Nothing keeping me here anymore.”

"What about --" Frank cut himself off mid question as every muscle in Sam's body tensed. He shuffled some papers on his desk, giving Sam a moment to regain control. When he looked back up, Sam was back to Sam, though, Frank thought, with an extra layer of armour piled on top of a gaping hole in his heart. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"When do I start?" Sam ignored Frank's sympathy.

Frank almost had to bite his tongue to keep from asking questions that had nothing to do with his job as Staff Sergeant. Instead he flipped through the papers on his desk until he found the one he was looking for and handed it to Sam. “They want you Friday for a briefing.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows but took the paper and read it. “You already told them I’d do it.” He raised his eyebrows.

“I had a hunch.”

Sam shook his head, clearly amused – though the usual Swarek twinkle wasn’t there. He stood, still holding the piece of paper in one hand. “Thanks,” he said, almost an afterthought, as he opened the door.

“Good luck!” Frank called.

If Sam heard he didn’t acknowledge it.

 


	11. epilogue

April 17, 2017

There was a pile of mail on the table. Sam flipped through it, sorting the bills from the junk mail with practiced motions. The first day back always felt strange. His apartment was spotless, the service usually took care of that. He knew when he opened the fridge he would find a litre of milk and a few vegetables, enough food for a decent dinner and breakfast before he would be forced to venture out to Metro for a real grocery shop. He knew without switching on the TV or picking up the phone that those had been restored. Old newspapers were in the recycling bin, with only the most recent still sitting with his mail. Everything was as normal as they could make it.

It was always a little eerie. One month, six months, a year, living a life that wasn't his, and then suddenly the case was closed and here he was, back in his apartment, without even a layer of dust or a spoiled jug of milk to attest to the empty months.

His hands stilled, fingers lingering on a cream envelope. It was bigger than the others, made of the kind of rich paper most people never bother to buy anymore. The address on the front was hand written in beautiful cursive. Something cold settled in his gut; paranoia or premonition he couldn't have said. He dropped the rest of the mail back on the table and turned the envelope over, sliding one finger under the flap and pulling it open without tearing the paper.  He slid out a perfect square of heavy cream cardstock.

The gold embossed lettering caught the light and almost seemed to glow. _You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Gail Elaine Peck and Dov Nicholas Epstein._ Sam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

She wasn't getting married. At least not yet. It was going to happen eventually. He told himself he wanted it to happen, that it would be easier once it did, that he didn't really care. Lies that didn't help at all. He wanted her to be happy, but sometimes... when the chivalrous part of his mind wasn't paying close enough attention, he hated her faceless future husband for making her happy when Sam never could.

He wondered if she would have a date for the wedding. She hadn't for Tracy's wedding. Maybe... But he shook the thought from his mind. Nothing had changed. They were still cops.. Although he understood less and less each day why that meant they couldn't make it work. The reasons she'd left didn't feel like reasons at all today. Her friends were getting married, friends she'd come through the last seven years with. Friends who worked side by side without being told by anyone their love was forbidden. Maybe it was time.

Dov and Gail, he thought about them for a moment, it was a good fit. He knew Dov had lost his first wife in a brutal, tragic accident. Sam couldn’t remember her name, but be remembered the funeral and the pain on Andy’s face. He’d had never been close to any of that cohort, except for Andy. He was surprised they'd bothered to invite him at all.

He shrugged, the RSVP date on the invitation was in two weeks, he had time to think about it. He tossed it on top of the pile of bills, but the rich paper kept siding, landing on the floor. Sam bent to pick it up, and noticed for the first time that the back was covered in writing.

_Sam,_

_I know we barely know each other and this is none of my business, but you're an idiot. Andy McNally has been in love with you for years. She will be at our wedding and if you have half the sense my husband-to-be says you do, you will use this opportunity. Tell her you love her, get her a ring... do what it takes. I refuse to have my wedding day ruined because my maid of honor is pining over you.  If you don't love her, you're a bigger idiot than I thought, and I would prefer if you didn't attend. _

_\- G_

He stared at the cream coloured invitation in his hands for a long time. He tried to remember all the reasons he'd had for staying away, but he couldn't.

Whatever it was, whatever stood between them, he didn't care anymore. He'd been miserable for over five years. She deserved to be happy. He could make her happy. He would do anything for that, if it meant he had to agree to a desk job to do it, so be it. She was worth it.

 

 

 

Taking a deep breath for courage, and sending a quick prayer heavenward that he wasn't about to meet her new live-in boyfriend, he knocked on Andy's front door.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened.

"Sam?"  She stood in the doorway in a white t-shirt and jeans. Her hair was a mess and her mouth hung slightly open, as if she didn't know whether to believe her eyes or not. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Sam felt suddenly awkward. What was he doing? She'd made it perfectly clear she didn't want him, and yet, like a kicked puppy here he was again. "I should have called."

 "No." She said, shaking her head. Her lips curled into a gentle smile. "Do you want to come in?"

He nodded. He couldn't find his voice.

She took a step back, holding the door open.

Sam paused half a step from her, suddenly he knew he needed to know. Right then and there, he needed to tell her. He couldn't go inside without telling her why he was there. Not without saying it.

"I missed you." Andy said before he could open his mouth.

"I thought about you every day." He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Sam thought his heart would stop. He took a step closer and lowered his mouth to hers.

She kissed him back, her arms twining around his neck. He tangled on hand in her hair, the other rested on her hip.

When they broke apart he smiled down at her. "So, do you have a date for the wedding?"

She smacked him lightly on the chest, a bubble of laughter escaping her lips. "We haven't seen each other in a year and _that_ is the first question you ask?"

He kissed her forehead, nose and cheeks, "Well?" His mouth hovered over hers.

"I do now."

Their lips met in a tender kiss that quickly deepened. Andy pushed him back into the house, letting the door slam behind them before reaching for the hem of his shirt.

"You’re even better at that than I remember," she muttered pushing his shirt over his head and peeling off her own before reclaiming his lips.

Sam smiled against her mouth as he pressed her back against the couch. It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but it would do for now.

 

All afternoon long it's with me the same song

You left a light on inside me, my love

I can remember the way that it felt to be

Holding on to you

 

I can't forget you when you're gone

You're like a song that goes around in my head

 

\- Like a Song by Lenka -


End file.
